


Since the World went to Hell

by BourbonKid



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Original Character-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-16 02:33:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 42,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5810191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BourbonKid/pseuds/BourbonKid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexandria is under attack and Judith is in danger. Enter Drake, my OC, who's probably the only one bored during the apocalypse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting nice Guys

**Author's Note:**

> I'd really appreciate it, if you could help me improve my skills by pointing out mistakes and commenting in general :)
> 
> This is my first fic ever and english isn't my first language, so please be gentle?

Drake sighs and wrinkles his nose in distaste.

The distinctive smell of sweat and dirt hangs in the humid air. A spicy tinge overlaying the odor of death that seems to have settled permanently over the landscape during the stifling summer days.

Of all the centuries, in which the apocalypse could have happened, did it have to be this very one? Back in the middle ages people used to smell halfway dead all the time anyways. Drake has gotten used to the comfort of modern times. Especially the hygiene standards are much to his liking, at least in the western civilization. And yes – let’s face it – he’s a pussy about these kind of things. Nothing against a little motor oil and grease or some fresh sweat, but the whiff he has just caught in the summer breeze is quite a different stage of stink. Disgusting. His nose is sensitive, damn it!

He’s been listening in on the little group for some time now. There’s not many people around these days anymore and encountering them is a welcome distraction from the constant boredom in Drake’s life. Even if they turn out to be complete assholes, as these fuckers seem to be. Just his luck that he can’t meet nice guys. He grimaces. Obviously nothing has changed in that department since the world went to hell.

There’s six of them, all men. They’ve been arguing, their voices mostly lowered but the aggression is still carrying through. They’re standing in a small clearing not far from Drake, debating their failed attempt at getting their hands on another group’s camp this very morning.

 

“Told ya we should’ve gone in all at once, together, like Phil said”, one of them complained more loudly than before.

“Shut your fuckin’ face! How was I supposed to know they’d fight back that hard? That bitch with the katana almost got me”, came the hissed reply, much lower, more careful of their surroundings. “Get yer shit together, man!”

“Mike’s right, we have to get back. They’re not expectin’ us to try again so soon”, a third man insisted, his voice lowered as well but still eager for the fight.

Drake sighs again, rolls his right shoulder and cracks his neck before setting himself in motion towards the voices. He’s pretty sure that the world will be a better place without these douches. And besides, he’s been itching for a kill for days. The apocalypse just doesn’t suit him, there’s not enough distraction from the darker sides of his nature.

“God damnit, I’m gonna rape that stupid bitch so hard! Fuckin’ c…”

But the man doesn’t get to finish that sentence because Drake is upon them by then. It takes less that thirty seconds and only one pained scream escapes before silence falls upon the forest again, abruptly. He’s almost disappointed. Nothing proves to be a challenge anymore.

 

He stands in the middle of the mess he has created and surveys his work. There’s blood everywhere, his hands and arms are covered in it. Good thing he opted against his leather jacket today due to the sweltering temperature. He should have brought his sword, really. On the other hand that would have been overdoing it a little. Absently, he licks the inside of his thumb while he contemplates that and looks around. The blood tastes clean and the coppery smell that settles over the clearing is strong enough to cover the stench of unwashed men. His victims are dispersed all over the place, ripped off limbs and heads spread out on the forest floor between mutilated bodies and torn out intestines. Yeah okay, maybe he went a little overboard there. But who can blame him, he just doesn’t approve of rapists and thieves!

He crouches down next to a dirty dark green backpack that looks promisingly stuffed and starts to rummage through it. Disappointingly, it only holds some blankets, a hunting knife and a bottle of water – nothing that piques Drake’s interest. Despite the heat, he doesn’t have to worry about staying hydrated and his sword is the only weapon he needs. In fact, he doesn’t even need that, he just uses it out of emotional attachment. His hands are more than capable, but using the sword keeps them clean. And anyways, he loves his sword.

He uses the water and blankets to scrub the grime off while he eyes the head of a decapitated douche, that lies next to his boot. He wonders if the thing will turn, even though it has been ripped off before the corpse had come back to life. But the truth is, if he’d wanted to know, he would’ve found out way earlier. And who can blame him for his disinterest? These things are kind of nasty, after all. Fortunately, they leave him alone most of the time, giving him a wide berth or at least ignoring his presence. That suits him just fine and he returns the courtesy if possible.

 

A sudden noise pulls him out of his reverie. It’s distant, more than a mile away at least, but for his attuned senses it could as well have been just an arm length away. He stays crouched but his head perks up, his focus turning towards the direction it emanates from. It can’t be, can it? Drake stills completely, not moving a muscle in his concentration to catch the sound, even though the forest is eerily quiet in the midday heat and his hearing would’ve been able to filter out a specific noise during a full blast rock concert. Yeah, that definitely is a child screaming in distress. A toddler, more accurately.

Drake hasn’t seen a child this young since the very beginning of the world’s end. They’re defenseless by themselves, easy prey for the hungry corpses and a liability for their elders on top of that. They can’t be told to be still when silence is essential for survival. They’re more likely to catch common illnesses than adults and prone to suffer more strongly from the effects. Not to speak of the challenge to keep them fed and cared for in a world where it’s hard enough to look after yourself as a grown-up. Of course under these circumstances, Drake is a little surprised and more than a little curious about who has managed to keep such a small being alive. But more importantly this specific toddler’s luck seems to have come to an end, because the cries are clearly ones for help. The noise is so urgent, so very desperate, that he feels something primal in himself responding.

 

It takes him a split second to decide before he lunges forwards out of his crouch right into a flat out sprint straight through the forest. The trees blend into a blur as he whizzes past. He considers taking Baby with him but she will just slow him down so he decides to come pick her up later. Okay, maybe he doesn’t exactly need the motorcycle either. But it’s comfortable to ride instead of walk and he isn’t usually in a hurry so the bike works just fine under normal circumstances. Besides, he can’t leave her behind for good, she’s a damn masterpiece! He just hopes nobody will find her in the meantime but he has finished off all of the assholes so she’s more or less safe for now.

He closes in on the source of the noise in record time, zig-zagging around natural obstacles here and there. Within a couple of heartbeats he reaches some kind of enclosure and comes to a sudden stop right in front of a tall metal wall. The wailing hasn’t stopped. If anything, it’s growing louder by the minute and it’s doubtlessly coming from inside the camp. Drake pauses slightly, fixing his gaze on the top of the wall, before he proceeds with a swift graceful jump that lands him right on his target. He balances on the narrow edge of the fence for a moment, orienting himself. Before him lays a sight that he’s seen plenty of times during the past couple of years: a part of a small town that has tried to barricade itself in. The futile attempt of foolish humans to ward off the evil from the outside world. If not for the smell of recent death as well as the rotten odor of decay that he can pick up, it might have been a peaceful scenery. The houses look especially nice and well kept, part of what would formerly have been called a nice neighborhood. Drake can actually picture kids playing in the streets, riding bikes or whatever they used to do back in the time before the apocalypse. Right now he can make out screams and shouts instead of children’s laughter, while he can almost taste the fear and terror that hangs above the camp. Obviously, people are preoccupied with their own predicaments at the moment.

Drake focuses more thoroughly on the wailing, calculating where it’s originating from. Then he jumps down, lands easily on his feet and races across the space between his position and the house at the end of the street. Without further ado he darts up the front steps to the porch and busts right through the door. He leaves it hanging on one hinge, not looking back. He’s already on top of the stairs before the front door has even started to swing back from him pushing through.

It takes another heartbeat to cross the doorstep to the upstairs room and take in the sight in front of him: it’s a regular bedroom with a king sized bed positioned in the middle of it. The room is currently flooded with sunlight that gives the scene a confusingly peaceful glow. A playpen stands on the other side of the bed with the howling infant inside. A corpse is bend over the construction, it’s dead fingers greedily grasping for the child that has crawled to the farthest corner, barely out of reach. The corpse grunts and growls in that wheezy way they do, while it struggles to get at its prey. Drake crosses the room in two strides and simply grabs the corpses’ skull from behind with his left hand, curling his fingers around the dead flesh and pulls it away from the playpen. It starts to snarl and hiss even more animatedly, wriggling in his grasp, trying to get free. For a second, he can feel its fear. Drake is always mildly surprised that these creatures are still conscious of him, but it seems logical. That kind of fear is probably ingrained in basic human instinct and they haven’t lost their appetite either, have they? He proceeds with crunching the skull in his fist like a ripe fruit and tossing it to the side in one smooth motion. That shuts the corpse up effectively while Drakes attention is already turning to the playpen.

 

The screaming is still going strong, grinding on Drakes nerve endings like a siren. How can such a small thing produce so much volume? Mentally debating whether to retreat or advance for a moment, he wipes his filth-covered left hand on the back of his jeans. His personal experience with crying toddlers is close to zero and he doesn’t want to scare the child even more. Finally, his first impulse wins out and he leans over the playpen, like the corpse has done before him. He tries to be as unintimidating as possible, moving slowly. He even makes a shushing sound that he hopes to be soothing, like he would do with a skittish horse. The wailing goes down a notch and then brakes off abruptly when the glossy eyes fix on Drake’s face.

Insecurity is playing over its delicate features, but the crying has stopped for now. The child’s yellow jacket has little pink ribbons on it, so he just assumes it’s a girl. He reaches over the side of the playpen for the child and dares to gingerly let his hands slide to either side of the small body. As that doesn’t evoke more crying, he carefully lifts her up and into his arms. Immediately she starts to make a happy gurgling sound and tiny fists grab onto his shirt while big blue eyes latch onto his. A rather stupid grin spreads over his lips. “Yeah, that’s it”, he praises and starts to rock a little up and down. The girl giggles and by then Drake’s pretty sure that he’s fallen in love. He would definitely have a bunch of kids, if he wasn’t so adverse to sticking his dick anywhere near a woman. In fact, he’s so caught up in the little one that he doesn’t even register another presence in the house until the other man is standing right on the doorstep to the room. Given that Drake doesn’t really have to fear for his own safety (as in ever) he isn’t too concerned. He just mildly wonders about the fact that the girl has managed to grasp his attention so thoroughly.

 

Now that he has noticed the other person, he becomes aware of everything at once: he can smell sweat, dirt and the unmistakable scent of a fresh kill but underneath that there’s sunshine and forest and old leather with a faint hint of cigarette smoke (Marlboro – he approves of that choice). Even without turning around, he can feel the tension rolling of the other man in waves.

“Set ‘er down.”

The voice explodes over his ear buds. And fuck, what a voice! Deep and dark, rich like honey with a raspy edge to it, like its owner has just downed a whiskey accompanied by a smoke or two. The words are slurred together, the southern accent making them into a smooth drawl even though their intent is sharp to the point and the demanding tone leaves no room for interpretation. It’s a warning, a threat, and not an empty one at that. There’s power and determination behind them and he realizes, its owner won’t ever give an inch.

Drake turns on his heel oh so slowly, cradling the child protectively against himself to ensure its wellbeing despite any turn the events might take. As he lays eyes on the man in front of him for the first time, his breath catches in his throat. The other one is almost as tall as Drake himself, thought not quite. His stance is wide and secure, the posture of a fighter ready to strike. His clothes are ragged and covered in blood, grime and dirt but somehow they still suit him perfectly, expressing a roughness that fits well with the voice. The muscles on his bare arms bulge with the effort of holding the crossbow up, that’s currently pointed right at Drakes forehead. Behind the weapon and bangs of longish brown hair, narrow blue eyes are glinting dangerously, their focus solely set on Drake.

Drake stares. It takes a long second for him to process what he’s seeing and another one to find his own voice again. When he finally does, it’s tinged with surprise and disbelief.

“Daryl!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank's so much for reading!
> 
> Also, the vagueness is intentional. If anyone wants the story to continue at all, let me know :)


	2. Making new Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading and commenting!!!
> 
> I've decided to continue the story. In this chapter, we get to know a little more about Drake's past and it's a lot darker then the first one, so be warned! 
> 
> Please enjoy! :)

The memories are already starting to get fuzzy. 

One would think that Drake’s brain is capable of dealing with time differently but he’s not that far from human after all. Even though it have been less than ten years, the little things are starting to blur into each other. Like he can’t remember if Sara had ever been to Paris. He can’t even recall ever asking her, though he can easily picture her strolling through the city’s streets. She would have loved France.

He knows that she had traveled to Berlin at least once, since they’ve met there. It had been an exhibition, where every piece of modern art had been matched with a classic one. Quite the intriguing display, since the old pieces had corresponded very well with the modern stuff. Drake wouldn’t exactly categorize himself as an art enthusiast. He had mostly gone for the sake of nostalgia. Somehow he can’t shake a certain fondness of the time when carrying a big ass broadsword in public didn’t raise any eyebrows or got you arrested for being a potential terroristic threat. 

 

So he had taken a flight to Berlin and gone to the gallery on a cold rainy Tuesday in February. The exhibition had been a big success and the gallery had been pretty packed for a weekday. He had lingered in front of a huge oil painting that displayed the burning of Rome, feeling slightly guilty. Maybe he shouldn’t have spent that much time with Nero back in the day, the guy had been borderline crazy in the end. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

He had turned towards the voice to his right. There she’d stood, alert brown eyes expectantly looking up to him out of a freckled face. She had barely been half his size and had looked more that twice his age, closer to seventy than sixty. Her graying hair had been tied up in a neat bun and her face had been wrinkled, though the freckles had still given her a youngish appearance. 

 

Drake had glanced back at the painting. “Uhm… I guess…?” he’d answered a little taken aback. Beautiful wasn’t exactly the word he’d have used to describe the brutal massacre that was displayed on the canvas. She’d chuckled. Obviously she had thought Drake’s reaction was quite amusing. He’d felt a tad bit affronted. 

“Sara”, she had introduced herself and extended her hand. Hesitantly, he’d reached out to shake it. It’d felt disturbingly delicate in his own, but her grip had been surprisingly firm. “Drake”, he had replied. She’d smiled at him and asked him if he was from the US, like herself. Before Drake new what had hit him, they’d lounged into animated small talk. She had explained, that she’d been a teacher – art and history – in Colorado before her retirement. He’d said that he was a veteran and that he worked as a military consultant for the government sometimes, which hadn’t been a lie per se. It had just been a while since he’d fought in a war and consulted anybody on anything. But she didn’t have to know that. 

 

At this moment, a group of Asian tourists had flocked the painting and Drake and Sara had had to step aside to make room for them. She’d asked him, if he wanted to have a cup of coffee instead and he had been more than a little confused. The old woman hadn’t seemed fazed by him at all. Most humans keep their distance from him. There’s something about him that just scares them off. It’s not an evident kind of fear, more a barely perceptible uneasiness around him that makes them queasy. They can deal with his presence, as long as he keeps to himself. Hence Drake hadn’t been used to conversations that lasted more than a few sentences and he’d felt a little out of his depth. But Sara had been clearly okay with it and that’d made him all the more curious about this petit woman. 

Therefore he’d agreed to her suggestion of coffee and they had gone downstairs to the small café that belonged to the gallery. She’d snorted when he had ordered a grand hot chocolate and he’d scowled at her. “What’s so funny?” he’d practically growled but with no real heat behind it. She had been en elderly lady after all. “Nothing”, she’d replied, “I just didn’t expect that. You look more like the no milk, no sugar kind of man to me.” He had frowned at that. He likes sweet things, so sue him. He’d told her as much and she’d laughed it off. 

Somehow he’d felt less wary around her than he did with other people. Sara was well mannered and polite in that certain way, elderly people often displayed. At the same time, she was open-minded and young-at-heart with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. They’d talked mostly about the exhibition and Sara had explained that her husband had passed away the previous year. Art had been a common interest and Drake could see how much she’d grieved, even though she hadn’t done more than mention him fleetingly. She hadn’t indicated the existence of any children and Drake hadn’t inquired further, he’d been a stranger after all. In return, Sara hadn’t pressured him with difficult questions about his background. It’s not as simple to make up a plausible life off the cuff, as it might seem. 

When Sara had finally announced that she had to head back to the hotel, Drake had felt almost disappointed. The feeling must’ve been mutual because Sara had asked if he’d be interested in meeting again and they’d exchanged phone numbers. Drake had saved hers in his contacts and scribbled his on a paper napkin for her, as Sara didn’t have a cell phone. 

 

About a month later, she had called and asked if he would like to visit her. By that time he had almost forgotten about her, but her call had been a pleasant surprise and a week later he’d driven from his apartment in New York to her house in South Colorado. She had actually baked a pie for him, when he’d shown up on her doorstep. Guiltily, he’d thought he should have brought flowers but she’d just shushed at him when she’d noticed his chagrin. They had easily picked the conversation up where they’d left off at the gallery and the visit had turned out to be altogether pleasant. Sara had shown him her little garden behind the two-storied house, where she used to grow vegetables in the summer. He’d promised to stop by again, soon.

As winter had turned to spring and spring into summer, visiting Sara every few month had become a regular habit. Drake had started to help around the house a bit, repairing a broken heater, fixing a leaking sink, installing a new shelf in the storage room. Drake was always cautious to reveal things about himself, so he’d listened more than he’d spoken and Sara had seemed to accept that. Even the silences between them had been rather companionable. 

From time to time she’d given him her advice, even though he had never actively asked for it. More often than not, her input had concerned his love life. Sara’s late husband had been the love of her life and she had been adamant that Drake needed to find his. He knew she’d meant well and but her concern had only served to frustrate him further. What was he supposed to do? Create an account on tinder? “Hey there! If you’re gay and into motorcycles, sword fighting and immortality, look no further. I’m your man!” Piece of cake. However, he certainly couldn’t have told her that. Therefore, he’d kept his mouth shut and had listened to her stories about her marriage.

He’d also brought flowers each time he had come by and Sara had proudly told him how she’d show them off to the nosy neighbors when he went back home. Drake had grinned at that. He’d known how her neighbors had tried their best to find out who he was. The preferred theory had seemed to be, that he was a long lost relative from oversees. Sara had never commented on that and the way she’d treated him fit that assumption fairly well. Other family members were never mentioned, thus Drake had assumed there either weren’t any or the relationship hadn’t been a good one. 

 

Time flew by, two years passed and Drake had found himself growing more and more fond of Sara. While he’d been mildly amazed at his affection, he hadn’t resented it. Generally speaking, Drake doesn’t feel like humans do. There’s a distinctive lack of care in him, where compassion is supposed to be in a human being. That doesn’t mean he can’t feel empathy and he considers himself a more decent member of society than some mortals. But deep down, he is too detached from distinctive human emotions to call himself one of them. 

Basically it all boils down to this: he kills without remorse. One might say that about a few men, too, but in the case of a regular human, it’s not true. Human nature isn’t build for that kind of violence and some part of the killer’s soul will always die with the victim. Drake suspects that it’s all connected to the fear of their own death, but he doesn’t know for sure and frankly he doesn’t care. If he deems a kill justified, he won’t think twice about it and he’ll never regret it. If the mortals can’t cope the same way – well, then they just shouldn’t kill in his opinion. 

 

Drake has encountered a lot of fascinating personalities in his rather long lifetime and occasionally he has formed an actual bond. Mostly, he has made interesting acquaintances and rarely he has met people he might call his friends. In his experience, it has always paid off to keep his distance. Mortals are way to mortal. One shouldn’t get too attached. 

Sara was the only one he ever considered family, so when the call had come, he’d felt shell-shocked. Of course, Sara hadn’t been young anymore and sooner or later, she would have died. Drake had known that. Still, the news had hit him hard. Sara had developed aggressive lung cancer, even though she hadn’t touched a cigarette for more than thirty years. The doctors had given her a few weeks, maybe two month. Suddenly, losing her had seemed impossible to him.

He hadn’t seen her in a while and the last time they’d met, Sara had been just fine. Drake had wreaked his brain. Had she been weaker than usual? Drake hadn’t been able to recall anything out of the ordinary. Shouldn’t he have been able to tell? He could hear a butterfly flap its wings in the neighbors garden from the front porch, damn it! How could he have missed fucking lung cancer?! 

By the time he had arrived at the hospital, Sara had been released already and was waiting for him at the reception area. Thoughtfully, he had taken the truck instead of the motorcycle to be able to bring her home and when he’d come to pick her up, he’d been appalled at her condition. She’d been weak and feeble, barely able to walk on her own. Her complexion had been almost as white as the hospital’s bleak interior and every intake of breath had rattled her frail frame. 

As Drake had expected of her, Sara had coped with the news astonishingly well, besides the physical weakness. Drake on the other hand had been ready to rip someone’s head off just to subdue the utter helplessness he’d felt. Rage had always been the easiest way for him to deal with things. Unfortunately, the illness had been nobody’s fault, hence nobody could be blamed and punished. Not that that would have helped Sara in any way. Therefore, he’d simply hugged her carefully and held her for a long while. 

In the following weeks, Drake had stayed at Sara’s side. Despite her meek protests, he’d hovered over her constantly. He’d taken her to the hospital every other day, where the doctors would pump her full of painkillers and plug her up to the respirator. Drake had inquired about a possible chemo but the doctor had made it very clear that Sara had stood no chance and the therapy would only have cost her more pain. Ultimately, Sara had been looking forwards to the end of her suffering. 

 

In retrospect, Drake knows why he had hesitated up to this point to suggest it: he’d been afraid that she’d say no, that she’d resent him. But at the time, he’d merely felt afraid with no real substance to his anxiety. So he’d waited, until after he’d cleaned up the dinner table one night. He’d set down across from her and studied her features for a moment. The wrinkles had seemed to have doubled over the last days and she’d been paler than ever. She’d looked tired and worn out, although her eyes had still been as perceptive as they used to be. She’d waited for him to speak, like she’d always done when she’d suspected that he’d had something on his mind.

Even though he has forgotten certain things about her by now, he can still recall that moment in brutal clarity.

 

“Sara, do you want to live?”, he’d asked softly.

She’d smiled at him, fondly. He’d known then, just by the way she'd looked at him. 

“No, Drake”, she’d answered. Her voice had been gentle but decisive, despite its wheezyness. 

He’d breathed out audibly, gripping the edge of the table. He’d studied its wooden surface for a moment before looking back up into her face. 

 

“Look”, he'd tried again, more insistently, “you think you know me, but you don’t. There’s things about me, that I haven’t told you. I can help you!”

She’d actually chuckled at that. Her chuckle had turned into a cough and Drake had been halfway out of his seat to assist her but she’d motioned for him to sit back down. After a minute, her breathing had calmed down to its normal rattling state.

 

“Drake”, she’d said in a gently scolding tone, “you have barely told me anything about you at all.” She’d continued more seriously. “But you didn’t have to. I know you are a good man, even if you are not a man after all. It doesn’t matter to me who you are, or what you are. You have been good to me and that’s more than enough in my opinion.” 

The words he’d been about to say died in his throat. He’d stared at her, his eyes probably as big as saucer plates. 

“Oh, don’t look so surprised”, she’d chided, obviously amused by his predicament, “you thought I wouldn’t notice? You do realize that your eyes glow red when you’re angry? And when you’re nervous? And especially when you’re blushing?” 

Drake had been pretty sure, his eyes were blazing right then. At least his face had felt like it had been on fire. For a few seconds, he’d been too stunned and embarrassed to process anything else. She had known! How in all seven hells could he have been that obvious?! And she hadn’t even batted an eye at it. Like, at all! 

 

Sara had used his silence to continue her little speech undisturbed. 

“As I said, I don’t mind and I don’t think other people are aware of it. I know you want to help and I know you mean well, but it’s not right, Drake. I’m old and I’ve lived a life full of love and happiness. It’s time for me to go.”

Her voice had grown thin on the last words, like the power behind her vocal chords had run out. She’d looked even wearier than before and she’d leaned back in her chair, clearly exhausted.

Drake’s brain had belatedly managed to cope with his personal dilemma and catch up with her. As her words had sunken in, panic had settled over him.

“Sara”, he’d started again, his tone now bordering on nervous desperation, “all you have to do is make a deal with me. And I don’t even want nothing in return…”

“No”, she’d cut in sharply. The word had hung in the air between them for a moment, before she had added, “I’m sorry” in a soft whisper. 

 

For a long time, they’d sat across from each other. Drake hadn’t outright begged, but his eyes had been pleading her to change her mind, to reconsider, to hear him out. 

He can’t recall how their staring contest had ended but eventually, he must have helped Sara into bed, like every other night. 

 

The subject hadn’t been brought up again and Drake hadn’t pushed. They’d continued their routine from before and even though he’d wanted to scream at her and fight with her over the matter, he’d known he stood no chance. There was nothing he could have done without her consent, even if he’d wanted to. Therefore, he’d tried to respect her decision but it had been hard, as he was seeing her whither away right in front of him. 

Sara had died in her sleep three days later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I apologize for any mistakes I might have made!
> 
> The next chapter will pick up where the first left off, so we'll get back to the well known universe of The Walking Dead.


	3. Sealing a Pact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, chapter III is up :)
> 
> We're back at the post-apocalypse setting in Alexandria, where we left off in chapter I.
> 
> Please enjoy, any feedback is very welcome!

The crossbow lowers a fraction.

The scrutinizing scowl morphs into confusion spiked with a healthy dose of distrust.

“Who the fuck ‘re you?”, the other man demands to know. It sounds more like an order than a question and Drake’s almost sure, that there’s going to be an arrow stuck in his face any minute now. A crossbow may not be enough to kill him, but he’d prefer to pass on the experience, thank you.

“My name’s Drake”, he introduces himself rather lamely but he can’t think of anything more eloquently. On second thought, he adds: “I saved your little girl.” There. That has to qualify him into the ‘not-a-threat-category’, right? Unfortunately, Daryl seems to differ, as his dark blue eyes narrow even further and he tightens the grip on his weapon.

“Yeah, I’ve seen that”, he clarifies in his rough drawl. Drake finds himself distracted by the voice again and his cock gives a tiny twitch. He groans internally. Fuck him, how can he be attracted to someone who’s about to shoot him?!

The toddler makes an unhappy sound and wriggles in his arms. Drake looks down at her and frowns. Obviously she doesn’t approve of the tension that has filled the air in the room, either. He sighs. “Look, I’m not going to harm her or you or any of your people. So relax, okay?”

Daryl breathes in and out audibly once, then lowers the crossbow until it’s pointing to the floor between them. Albeit, his eyes and posture stay skeptical and Drake’s aware that he’s not out of the danger zone, yet. However, he counts Daryl’s reaction as a small victory.

“How do you know me? I’ve never seen ya before”, Daryl asks. He’s shifting from one foot to the other in that nervous fashion, like he has to channel all his energy into some kind of movement. He reminds Drake of a caged animal, always ready to strike if he’s provoked.

Drake doesn’t know how to explain that connection without freaking Daryl out completely. “Um, I knew your brother. Merle, right?” Maybe the mention of the other Dixon would reassure Daryl. On the other hand, Drake can’t say for sure if Daryl knows of Merle’s death, so it’s a risky play. “Met him at a bar, once. He had a picture of the two of you and he talked about you a lot. I remembered when I saw you.”

At least, Daryl seems genuinely surprised. “You know he’s dead?”, he inquires warily. “Well, I’d say chances are pretty high these days.” Drake’s quite pleased with how he’s managed that question. It’s a reasonable enough answer after all. Again, Daryl seems to disagree and his eyes darken another fraction. Belatedly, Drake realizes how tactless his words might appear from Daryl’s perspective.

“I’m sorry”, he adds in an attempt to fix his misstep. “It’s just… you know… My people-skills are a bit rusty.”

That seems to do the trick. Daryl blinks and gives a half-shrug with his right shoulder. “Nah, s’ okay, you’re right. Hard times n’ all.” Drake exhales slowly. Who would have thought that quoting Supernatural would save his ass one day? Also, he becomes aware that watching social interaction on TV and actually interacting with human beings are entirely different things. He stores that enlightenment away for later.

“Been out there long?”, Daryl asks and there’s a note of sympathy in his gruff voice, though he’s still got his guard up. It’s Drake’s turn to shrug. “A while”, he tells him truthfully. He notices, how the lack of care is apparent in his demeanor but he just can’t bring himself to fake the haunted look in his eyes. That earns him another bewildered stare from Daryl.

The little girl uses the ensuing silence to break the tension with a loud whine, before she starts to actively struggle in Drake’s grasp. Her legs kick out and her miniature fists pull at Drake’s blood stained shirt. Puzzled, he shifts his attention from Daryl to her. Immediately, worry is gnawing at his insides, even though she’s probably merely bored.

“She’s hungry”, Daryl explains. He takes a tentative step towards Drake, who snaps his gaze back up at him. The other man finally seems to come to the conclusion that Drake’s not going to attack him any time soon. Daryl swiftly crosses the distance between them and slings his crossbow over his shoulder, before he reaches out for the toddler. He gently lifts her out of Drake’s arms, who hands her over carefully.

Their sudden closeness almost overwhelms Drake. Daryl’s smell is deliciously overpowering and Drake can feel the heat radiating off his body. When their hands brush on the girl’s sides, his stomach makes a weird little flopping motion. He mentally scolds himself to keep it in his pants, but it’s confusingly hard to reign himself in.

Fortunately, Daryl’s concentration is fixed on setting her back down in the playpen. “Her name’s Judith”, he says while he leans over the playpen and smoothes her yellow jacket back into order. Drake takes that as a peace offering. “She’s cute”, he states and he has to smile involuntarily while he watches Daryl fussing over her. That earns him a strange sideways glance. “What? She is!”, he defends himself and because he’s certainly curious, he dares to ask: “Is she yours?”

Somehow, Daryl seems flustered by the suggestion, as if the thought was illogical or embarrassing. “Nah, she’s Rick’s”, he elaborates quickly, as though Drake’s supposed to understand that piece of information without further explanation. Judith’s eyes begin to water at that very moment and the whining picks up again. “She needs to eat”, Daryl concludes and turns back to Drake. His gaze travels to the discarded corpse that Drake has flung into the corner next to the bed. Blood and brain matter are decorating the white wall and the furniture now. Drake winces guiltily. “Sorry about that”, he mumbles sheepishly.

Daryl doesn’t respond for a moment and Drake’s about to apologize a second time but Daryl speaks first. “How’d you do that?” His voice is lower than before and his eyes flit over the mess for another second, before they settle on Drake’s own again. Drake can’t fully decipher the emotions behind them. Sympathy is warring with distrust but there’s honest interest as well.

“Huh?”

Once more, Drake impresses with his articulate fluency in Daryl’s presence. But honestly, he doesn’t follow and Daryl is a total distraction, damn it! He actually rolls his eyes at Drake’s confusion and that even stings a little. It’s not Drake’s fault, that dead people have eaten all the hot dudes and Drake’s been deprived of Internet porn since the apocalypse.

“That walker’s at least 220 lbs. An’ you’ve chucked him to the side like ‘t was nothin’”, Daryl clarifies. “How’d ya do that?”

Drake glances at the heap of flesh in the corner. Daryl’s right, the corpse is a fatty. “Oh. Um. I… work out a lot?” he suggests. That’s somewhat believable. He’s pretty buff.

Daryl stares at him like he’s just grown a pair of horns. Thankfully, Judith’s whining turns into a full-blown wail just then and Daryl’s focus snaps back to her. For a few heartbeats, he seems torn between further questioning Drake’s flimsy explanation and concentrating on Judith’s needs. The latter wins out eventually.

“Whatever”, he grunts dismissively before turning on his heel and heading through the door. Obviously, Drake’s judgment has been adjourned and he breathes a silent sigh of relieve as he follows Daryl down the stairs.

 

Daryl heads straight to the kitchen and busies himself with rummaging through the cupboards immediately. Drake feels a little lost and stays hesitantly on the other side of the kitchen counter, putting his hands on top of it in plain visibility. He doesn’t want Daryl to switch back into defensive mode and even though he’s turned his back to him on the stairs, one wrong move could easily change that hard won confidence.

Out of the blue, Daryl looks up from his search and fixates Drake for a long moment that makes him want to fidget under the scrutiny, but he manages to stay still. “Thanks”, Daryl says sincerely. That puts Drake at ease and he nods, once. Daryl resumes hit hunt for Judith’s meal and they remain silent for a while.

From time to time, Daryl glanced at him, as if to check if he has dared to moved. A distinct huff from the other man raises Drake’s brows in question. “What?” he asks softly. Daryl gestures to the halfway unhinged door with the empty bowl that he’s holding, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. Drake can feel his face heating up, even though he considers the door collateral damage. “I’m gonna repair that!” he assures Daryl. “And I’m gonna clean up upstairs, of course”, he adds a little too eagerly for his own taste.

Daryl hums a noncommittal “M-hm”, but he doesn’t hide his smirk now. “I’d ask how ya broke that fuckin’ door, but I know: you ‘work out’.” Daryl’s eyes widen on the last two words, putting emphasis on the metaphorical quotation marks. Drake’s unbelievably grateful, that the other man is rather looking at his hands that are working on a bottle of milk than at Drake’s burning cheeks. His eyes are probably blazing.

“Yeah, you know what… I’ll start right away, okay? Be right back!” And with that he flees the scene and bolts up the stairs into the relative safety of the bedroom. He can hear Daryl chuckling lowly in the kitchen, while he leans his own forehead against the doorframe and closes his eyes for a moment.

What’s wrong with him? He’s never been that easy to rattle, goddamnit! He tells himself to get a grip. Most likely, it all comes down to Merle and the deal they’ve made. Drake hasn’t been lying, when he’s told Daryl that he’s met Merle in a bar. It had been after Sara’s death and Drake had spent most of his time trying to get drunk back then.

He’d worked at a small garage in the middle of nowhere, where he was the sole mechanic that could handle motorcycles. Mostly, he’d kept to himself, barely talking to his coworkers or customers at all. The others had just taken him for a loner, which had been fine by him. If he hadn’t been busy fixing bikes, he could be found at the single local bar, gorging himself on whiskey. As far as he was concerned, that had been exactly the life he’d needed after losing her.

Seeing as it takes at least three bottles for him to feel any effect at all, getting drunk had been quite a challenge. He’d mastered the impediment within the first three weeks of his employment, to the chagrin of his boss who’d grudgingly accepted it because the drinking hadn’t affected his work. The trick to overcome his marvelous metabolism had been to simply keep a certain amount of alcohol in his system at all times. Solid food was highly overrated anyway.

One night, he’d slouched in his usual spot at the bar when one of his customers had shown up and taken the stool next to him. The man had been passing through town, when his bike had conked out on him. Drake had fixed it that afternoon but it had probably been too late for him to continue his trip and he must’ve had taken residence at the motel or something.

Somewhere through Drake’s sixth bottle of the day and Merle’s fifth shot of the evening, they’d started a conversation. Even though Drake hadn’t been in the mood for talking and the guy was clearly a chauvinistic, racist, Nazi-asshole, it had been a welcome break from his lonely routine. He’d briefly considered if ripping Merle’s head off would have been satisfactory enough to warrant the hassle it’d have triggered. In the end, Merle had turned out to be decent company.

They’d talked about motorcycles and Merle had bragged about his prowess as a hunter. To demonstrate his accomplishments, he’d shown Drake a picture of him and his brother Daryl, the younger Dixon. The photograph had been taken after a successful hunt and Merle was proudly kneeling next to a huge slain deer, grinning into the camera. The brother had immediately caught Drake’s eye but he hadn’t commented on it. Otherwise he’d definitely have had to rip off Merle’s head in self-defense.

Whiskey had turned out to be a surprisingly effective connector, or maybe they’d just both been at a very low point in their lives. Either way, they’d gotten on formidably well. Any uneasiness Merle might have felt around Drake in the beginning, dissipated gradually with his level of intoxication. After Merle’s eighth glass, he’d begun to really pour his heart out to Drake, who’d felt exceptionally compassionate. In retrospect, he can’t understand how the bartender hadn’t either called an ambulance or an exorcist after witnessing a single person consume three bottles of whiskey in one go.

However, Merle had told him all about his baby brother and how their dad had been an abusive asshole and how Merle had regularly looked the other way. He’d always been somewhere else, when Daryl had needed him the most. Usually he’d been either in jail or high as a kite, occasionally he’d merely been chasing tail. Even after their father had passed away, Merle had still feigned ignorance. Apparently, his questionable behavior had weighted heavily on his conscience.

In the early ours of morning, Merle had been drunk enough to shed one or two manly tears which Drake had sensitively ignored. After that, it hadn’t taken long for Drake to stumble upon a brilliant, whiskey-induced idea: he could totally help Merle out of his misery and do himself a favor at the same time. So he’d proposed to Merle, that he’d make him a comradely promise between men. If anything was ever to happen to Merle, Drake would take it upon himself to look out for his baby brother. This way, Merle’s conscience would be put at ease and Drake had a fantastic excuse to check out Daryl Dixon. Of course, he hadn’t said that last part out loud.

When the sun had come up and the bartender had finally kicked them out in order to close the place up, they’d shaken hands on it. Merle had jumped at the opportunity to set his guilty conscience at ease and Drake had essentially been in the mood to do something crazily stupid – a perfect fit. It had been so long since Drake had made a deal, that he’d almost forgotten the unique feeling of sealing a pact. Then again, the whiskey might have been fogging his memories a little, too. Anyway, when their hands had clasped, Drake had been able to feel the connection built up within seconds. Merle had drunkenly shaken his head to clear the weird sensation away, to no avail. He must’ve accredited it to the booze in the end because they’d said their goodbyes and Merle had stumbled away in the direction of the motel, waving over his shoulder, none the wiser.

And that had been the last, Drake had ever seen of the Dixon. When he’d woken up the following afternoon, he’d blamed it all on the alcohol and never given it a second thought. Nonetheless, he’d been able to feel the bond with Merle in his system. When Merle had died, he’d been able to tell instantly. Under normal circumstances, he’d have been obliged to fulfill his end of the bargain but with the apocalypse, everything had changed. Before, he’d have been able to find Daryl by instinct alone but since the world went to hell, the whole natural order had been obscured. Consequently, he’d pushed the whole matter to the back of his mind and decided to deal with it when the occasion would arise.

Well, it clearly has arisen now.

He pulls his forehead back from the white painted wood. The deal with Merle must be the reason why he’s so out of his depth with Daryl, it’s only logical.

Judith is still making unhappy sounds in the playpen and Drake shakes himself out of his thoughts for her sake. He trudges over to the dead body that has slumped down the wall, where Drake has abandoned it earlier. “Don’t worry, I’ll get rid of that”, he tells the toddler, “Daryl’s even making you lunch.” That doesn’t seem to console her and the way her little face scrunches up is alarmingly foreboding of another fit of wailing. He feels panic building deep in his gut and smothers the impulse to fret over her again.

Instead, he grabs the now dead-dead corpse by the back of it’s torn shirt and lifts it up. He’s careful not to touch the thing more than absolutely necessary, because the smell it emits is something he really doesn’t want to carry around on his clothes all day. Therefore, he holds it out in front of him, while he carries it down the narrow stairs and into the kitchen.

“Where am I to put this?”, he asks Daryl, who’s currently stirring something in a pot on the stove that smells like apples, milk and oatmeal. He shakes the fat corpse on his outstretched arm a little for emphasis and it wobbles to and fro. More blood splatters onto the floor, but at this point, a few drops more or less won’t make a difference. A normal person would probably have to heft the thing onto their backs in order to carry it but Drake’s definitely not going to do that, no matter how it might look to Daryl. The other man’s suspicion is piqued anyway and it’s too late to feign innocence in the supernatural department by now.

Daryl pauses in his stirring and opens his mouth. Before he can say anything though, someone’s stomping up to the porch, turning their attention towards the open space, where the front door used to be. When he sees Drake, the stranger pulls a gun from the holster at his hip and points it straight at Drake. It happens so quickly, from a human point of perspective, that Drake’s actually impressed. This has to be his lucky day, he thinks sarcastically. For the second time within an hour, an attractive man is pointing a deadly weapon right into his face. On second thought, the look in the man’s eyes reminds him vaguely of his pal Nero and that is not a good thing, so he might reconsider his evaluation. He sighs.

“Rick?” he guesses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your support! :)
> 
> I'm gonna post the next chapter soon, but it might take a little longer this time. Please be patient with me!


	4. Repeating Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, here's the next part. Hope you still enjoy :)
> 
> I'll probably post a pic of Drake soon, if possible. 
> 
> (Also, I'm a little ashamed to say that this is all just a lot of plot to justify the porn that I'm going to write in later chapters... so be warned, it's gonna get dirty later on)

Under normal circumstances, Drake doesn’t care much what people think of him. He will always be different from humans, even though the difference might not be prominent enough for them to put a finger on it. He’s gotten used to humans being wary around him and he doesn’t really mind. It get’s annoying sometimes, mostly because it’s difficult to build up a lasting connection with somebody. Sara used to tell him, he was lonely and that he needed company but he’d been pretty content living his life mostly undisturbed by their existence. Though if they get in his way, he won’t hesitate to kill them if necessary.

Since the apocalypse, everything has changed. People are living on the edge now, constantly and that has transformed their demeanor towards him as well. He’s just another undefined danger to them that is catalogued with all the other threats the world sets in their path. Unfortunately, that doesn’t make them any less wary around him but rather more wary about everything else. Therefore, he’s not surprised, that both men are ready to shoot him at first sight. After all, their reality is all about survival now so he doesn’t take it too personally.

However, the bond he shares with Daryl due to his pact with Merle complicates things enormously. It confuses him and puts him out of his depth. He’s had no time to cope with the unexpected encounter and he doesn’t know how to deal with the feelings that accompany it. This cracks up his normally immaculate self-restraint. As long as he keeps his emotions in check, he’s in control of his physical appearance. With Sara, he’d lost that ability because he’d grown close to her. In the present situation, he’s simply out of practice with human interaction and flustered by Daryl’s presence.

He blames it all on these facts.

 

The stranger doesn’t even so much as blink at the mention of his name. Daryl had been distrusting and cautious, assessing him thoroughly before he’d made his decision to trust Drake, at least for the time being. He’d seen Drake rescue Judith and even though that might not completely exclude him as a threat, it has been enough to create a temporary state of peace. Rick however, doesn’t seem inclined to follow in Daryl’s footsteps. The colt in his hand doesn’t waver and his gaze is fixed on Drake in an eerily unblinking stare.

Daryl’s attitude upon their first encounter upstairs had reminded Drake of a wild animal, always alert and ready to pounce if necessary. Drake picks the archer to be a man who bases his decisions ultimately upon his gut. Rick on the other hand seems to be a man of thought and careful calculation, but there’s something darker in his eyes, too. Drake has seen that look before, this flash of madness born from suffering and loss. It’s gonna take a lot more to get onto Rick’s good side than it had with Daryl.

“Rick, it’s all right, he’s okay”, Daryl starts from behind the kitchen counter, thereby verifying Drake’s guess at who the newcomer is. Rick doesn’t even look at Daryl and Drake can practically see his mind working as he takes in Drake’s still outstretched arm with the mutilated corpse in his hand. Drake realizes how weird the situation must look to Rick and he can feel his face heat up again. (And damn it, he’s never been the bashful type so where is all that blushing coming from?) He’s painfully aware of how the red starts to swirl up in his eyes, tinting the normally steel gray a bloody shade of crimson, but he just can’t stop it from happening. And that’s the beginning of the end.

It all goes down within a split second but Drake can follow the process on Rick’s face in slow motion, unable to do anything but witness the understanding that comes over Rick’s features. He can pinpoint the exact moment when Rick becomes aware that Drake doesn’t quite fit into the ‘human’ category. Rick’s eyes first widen, then his brows knit together again and Drake knows instantly he’s made his decision. To his credit, Rick proves himself to be a man undeterred by unexpected circumstances. His finger squeezes on the trigger and in the next second, the bullet embeds itself into Drake’s forehead. He hears Daryl shout Rick’s name.

His head rocks back slightly with the force of the blow and he let’s the corpse crash to the floor. It hurts like a motherfucker, which is why he usually avoids being shot, especially in the head. His now free hand comes up, instinctively feeling for the entry-wound on his forehead. It’s already closing up and he can feel the itch inside his skull, where his body is dissolving the bullet effectively. Still, his ears ring from the blast of the shot and he feels like his brain has just been split in two. Which it practically has.

For a moment, he’s reeling from the shock but it’s replaced by annoyance right away. As usual, pain works as the perfect catalyst for the darker side of his nature. He can feel his eyes flame up, his body begging him to trigger. But he manages to keep himself in check just barely. These are humans after all and Rick’s simply trying to protect his people from an undefined threat. Drake get’s that but he’s still pissed.

He glares at Rick. “What the fuck man?”, he complains sourly while he rubs his aching forehead.

Rick is still pointing the smoking gun at him and his mouth is hanging slightly open. One glance at Daryl shows him the same disbelieving wide-eyed gawk.

“That hurt!” he adds for emphasis.

Daryl seems to have finally found his voice again. “Holy fuck”, he states while he steadies himself on the kitchen counter with one hand. “Holy fuck”, he repeats. Meanwhile, the smell of oatmeal has gained a slightly burned note but Judith has quieted down. Drake muses that maybe she’s developed a sixth sense about staying still in crucial moments.

Rick's second hand joins the other on the gun and he takes a step back, repositioning the weapon so that it’s aimed at Drake’s face again. “What are you?” he asks in a raspy voice, his tone a mixture between stunned disbelief and utter distrust.

Drake lets his hand sink to his side and tries not to let his irritation boil up. What’s this guy’s problem? That’s what doing the right thing gets you nowadays, a shot to the head instead of gratitude. Why are these people so damn wary of him? He’s done nothing to earn that treatment.

“Fuck you!” he growls instead of an actual answer and he let’s the red in his eyes flash on purpose. He can see Rick grinding his teeth behind his gun and the other man’s eyes flicker over to Daryl briefly. There’s a non-verbal exchange between the two men and Daryl slides his hand onto his crossbow, which he’s laid down on the counter while he’d been preparing Judith’s meal.

Somehow, Daryl turning against him on Rick’s behalf really pushes Drake to the edge. So being strong enough to burst through the door and crush a walker’s skull is fine but surviving a shot to the head is suddenly too much to take? That’s just Rick’s fault, everything had gone well before he’d turned up, guns blazing. Drake can feel his control slipping.

 

He growls deep in his throat as a warning. The noise is usually enough to make human’s hairs stand on end.

Drake can hear the crossbow scrape over the countertop when Daryl lifts it up and aims it at him. With two weapons pointed at him, the two men seem to feel like they have gained the upper hand. “I’ll ask you one more time”, Rick says slowly and pointedly, “What are you?”

Drake takes a deep breath, his eyes traveling from Rick to Daryl and back. Of course the crossbow doesn’t make a difference about who’s going to win this fight, but they don’t know that. Under normal circumstances, he’d have either killed them or left by now. But these are not bad people, he reminds himself. They’ve probably dealt with a lot of bad things and their behavior is simply based on rough experiences. Besides, he can’t hurt Daryl due to his pact with Merle.

He decides to cave in. “Fine”, he starts and puts up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “My name is Drake, I’m from New Y…”

But that’s as far as he gets before Rick shouts “Now!” and the telltale whizz of an arrow being fired from a crossbow registers in Drake’s left ear. He whirls halfway around and catches it out of the air right before it can burry itself into his left flank, turning his attention towards Daryl in the process. The crossbow has distracted him enough, that he he’s surprised by the second bullet from Rick’s colt that hits him square in the chest. He spins back around to face Rick who’s rapidly emptying his magazine into Drake’s body.

The bullets burn themselves into his flesh, jolting him slightly with each impact and his mind just clicks from the pain.

 

He roars in fury and let’s go of the last shred of control, let’s the beast inside him take over. The arrow clutters to the floor, unnoticed. Rick blurs into a faceless opponent, something that needs to be eliminated, something that needs to be taught its place. His fangs break out and he bares his sharp canines at Rick in a demonic snarl. He can feel his back ripping open, his dark wings breaching his skin, ripping through his shirt and unfolding. The windows of the suburban house burst from the sudden pressure in a deafening rain of glass and debris.

It doesn’t matter that his triggered form is utterly unnecessary to kill humans, he’s blind with rage. He registers distant screams and other people running towards the house, but the only thing that matters to him is Rick, who’s currently firing the last bullet into Drake. The man’s eyes have gone wide and scared, his face pale.

Almost too fast for the human eye, Drake moves forwards and grabs Rick by the throat. The colt goes flying and Rick’s hands curl desperately around Drake’s wrist, when he shoves him up against the wall next to the door. In the meantime, Daryl has taken about three steps from his previous position towards them but he stops dead in his tracks when Drake pushes Rick up the wall. He lets the man’s feet dangle a few inches above the ground, while he tightens his fingers and puts pressure on his windpipe. Rick gurgles under the chocking hold on his neck.

Drake bares his fangs again and growls darkly, ready to rip out the man’s throat with them.

But he doesn’t.

He freezes into place, stuck between the want to kill and the inability to go through with it. Something is holding him back and while he tries to figure out the reason for his predicament, he becomes aware of Daryl’s heartbeat, hammering away a few feet from him. Right, the pact. Killing Rick is obviously not compatible with ensuring Daryl’s wellbeing. He doesn’t move until he has to in order to keep Rick conscious.

Slowly, he sets the man back down onto his own feet and loosens his grip slightly. He pulls his spread wings back, almost folding them but not quite. Rick desperately sucks in the little bit of air he can get through Drake’s hold, which isn’t much.

 

Drake turns his head to Daryl, whose face has gone as white as Rick’s had been before, then he fixes his eyes back onto Rick’s. He can hear other people approaching the house but he still has minute. Time to talk plainly.

“Great, now that I have your attention, let me get this straight: I’m very fast and very strong, much stronger than you. You’ll never be able to kill me, so give it up already.”

He pauses to let that sink in.

“As you can see, I’m not a human, but I’m not a threat to you either.”

To prove his point, he lets go of Rick and steps back while he folds his wings completely and lets them dissolve. For good measure, he pulls his fangs back as well. Rick falls forwards a bit and gulps in air, his hand going to his throat protectively.

“I’m sorry for that”, he gestures between Rick and himself. “But I don’t appreciate people shooting at me, it fucking hurts!”, he adds just in case. He looks to Daryl who licks his lips nervously.

For a moment, nobody says a word. They just look at each other, gauging each other’s reaction to the new setting.

Then there are steps on the asphalt accompanied by several voices.

“Dad?”

“Rick? Daryl?”

The shouts grow closer and people come into view on the street in front of the house. The almost empty doorframe leaves no cover and Drake can feel anticipation running through him. Two women and a boy come to a halt in front of the porch and stop dead in their tracks when they see him. Immediately, their guard is up and hands are laid on weapons.

Drake’s shoulders sink a little. Fantastic, more people trying to kill him.

“Dad?”, the boy shouts questioningly.

Drake looks back at Rick and for a second, their eyes meet, before Rick shouts back: “We’re in here, it’s okay.”


	5. Fitting in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drake meets the group in this one.
> 
> I'm sorry, the story's progress is a lot slower than intended... but letting the characters clash a bit was fun so I thought better slow progress than no progress, right?
> 
> Also, I have a fever right now so I don't really know what I'm doing and there might me even more mistakes than usual - shame on me again!

Drake digs into his bowl of froot loops like a starving man. In his defense, he hasn’t had anything close to a real meal in month and the sugar goes straight to his head in a delicious rush.

It’s been less than an hour since he’s jumped the walls and he’s already getting the hang of this place. Rick’s clearly the alpha of the pack and he’s doing quite a good job despite his slight affinity to go nuts in inappropriate situations. Drake respects him for it but the guy still annoys him. Daryl always has the man’s back, even if he silently disagrees with a decision Rick has made. His glorification of their leader really rubs Drake the wrong way.

Currently, Rick is surveying the damage Drake’s triggering has caused. It’s clearly a pretext to buy the man time to regain his composure and Drake gives him some room, willingly. Daryl’s right at Rick’s heels, following him around the house like a lost puppy. He keeps glancing over to the kitchen though, where Carol is salvaging the damage on the stove while Drake shovels the froot loops down his throat.

He gestures to the dynamic duo with his spoon and speaks around a mouthful of cereal: “So, who elected captain crazypants in this lil’ dictatorship you’ve got going here?” He knows he’s being a provocative smartass but he just can’t help himself. Carol throws him a look that carries a warning and her amusement, both. “Rick has been a good leader. We wouldn’t be here without him”, she explains.

Drake gives a noncommittal little snort and Carol raises one eyebrow without looking at him, while she pours fresh oatmeal into the pot. “What? He shot me!”, Drake exclaims in feigned offense. Well, maybe not feigned, his head still hurts. Carol smirks while she stirs the contents of the pot. “You seem just fine to me. Now eat your froot loops.” He doesn’t know if she thinks he’s joking or if she simply isn’t fazed.

He grumbles under his breath about her heartlessness but he doesn’t argue. Carol takes it all in stride and Drake gets the feeling that she’s been on the verge of breaking once but has come back unbreakable. She’d been the first one to step into the house after Rick had given his okay. She’d looked from one to the other, taking in Rick’s disheveled state and Drake’s blazing red eyes. Her gaze had lingered on him for a moment but she hadn’t commented and instead turned to Daryl, who’d still seemed dazed by recent events. “Everything all right, Pookie?”, she’d asked and Drake’s brows had risen at the nickname.

Daryl doesn’t strike him as the type to allow such a public display of closeness. So obviously, the two of them share history. But the way they interact reminds him of family rather than romantic involvement so he’s just curious. Rick on the other hand looks at Daryl like he’s his property and Drake knows instinctively that Rick’s got a thing for his second in command. He might not even realize it himself but Rick’s pretty territorial about Daryl and Drake thinks maybe he should’ve broken his neck after all.

“Yeah, everythin’s good”, Daryl had answered Carol’s inquiry. “That’s Drake”, he’d elaborated, “he’s saved lil’ Judith from that walker.” He’d gestured to the corpse that decorated the living room parquet. The fact that Carol had seemed to trust him right away after that proves several things to Drake. First of all, she trusts on Daryl’s word completely. Secondly, she’s the only one in the group who finally appreciates Drake’s help enough to warrant her trust in him. And third, she’s a badass motherfucker, because she’d simply overpowered her uneasiness in his presence on account of Daryl’s words.

“Thank you, Drake”, she’d addressed him for the first time. “We’re truly grateful for your help.” She’d sounded sincere. Then she’d taken matters into her own hands, because Rick had still been busy trying to cope. “Carl, why don’t you go upstairs and look after your sister? Rosita, maybe you can gather the others? The breach should be dealt with by now.” The dark haired chick who’d been standing by the doorframe a little uncertainly, had nodded and taken off. She’d seemed glad for the excuse to flee the scene.

Apparently, the boy is Judith’s brother which makes him Rick’s son and Drake silently hopes he doesn’t take after his father. Otherwise he’s probably gonna get shot again rather sooner than later. But Carl seems a lot more subdued that his dad. He’d asked for permission from his father and only gone upstairs when Rick had confirmed Carol’s request. He’d hurried past Drake but he’d sneaked a curious peek over his shoulder nonetheless.

Carol had simply turned to Drake, introduced herself and asked if he was hungry. And that had been that.

 

By the time Drake has finished his froot loops Rick is back in control and the dynamic duo stalks over from the windows on the opposite side of the living room. Daryl steps over the corpse carefully and stands slightly behind Rick’s left shoulder. It bugs Drake how submissive Daryl acts around the other man but they seem accustomed to their roles. Drake sets the empty bowl down next to the stove, where Carol stirs vigorously to keep the thick puree from burning and leans back against the countertop behind him. He crosses his arms in front of his chest and waits for Rick to make the first move. The man scrutinized him with his piercing blue eyes for a minute before he opens his mouth. He’s still out of his depth with Drake but he seems less hostile.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” He breaks of and starts again, laying one hand flat on the counter almost like a peace offering. “We’ve… We’ve been through a lot.”

“Yeah, I figured”, Drake says, his eyes drifting back to Daryl. He can’t distinguish between the feelings that are borne by the pact he’s made with Merle and simple attraction towards the bowman; his emotions are all mixed up.

Rick nods and Daryl shifts his weight behind him, blinking back at Drake from behind his bangs. Rick recaptures his attention by saying: “Look, I don’t wanna be ungrateful, I’m glad you were there. I am. But I think it might be better for everyone if you were… on your way now.” He pauses, cautious not to misstep. “You don’t seem to need our protection.”

Drake stays silent for a while, contemplating. Rick’s not wrong. Normally he’d be long gone, leaving the humans to ponder his existence on their own. But he can’t do that this time, can he? He fixes his gaze back at Daryl.

“I can’t”, he states simply.

Rick exhales audibly, probably asking himself why it can never be that simple. He doesn’t reply for a long time, as thought he could change Drake’s statement by just waiting it out. “Why?”, he finally gives in, leaning forwards a little.

Drake nods to Daryl. “Made a promise. To Merle.” He’s not keen on explaining.

Daryl’s eyes narrow. “What promise?”, he asks at the same time Carol exclaims confused: “You knew Merle?”

Carol and Daryl exchange a brief glance. “What promise?” Daryl repeats.

Drake sighs, he certainly has to elaborate a little. “Met him at a bar, a few years ago. Before all this.” He gestures vaguely around the house, implying the world’s apocalyptic state. “Said I’d look after his little brother if anything was to happen to him.” That has to do for now.

Carol takes the pot from the stove but she doesn’t continue with preparing the food. Instead, everybody’s eyes travel from Drake to Daryl. “What’s that supposed ta mean?”, he barks at Drake, his stance shifting into a more aggressive pose.

Drake suppresses another sigh. “Nothing”, he says dismissively, “nothing.” He suspects this whole thing won’t go down Daryl’s throat easily if he makes a big deal out of it. “I just said I’d do him the favor. We were drunk, I made a promise. That’s all.”

Daryl glares at him. “Do I look like I need a keeper? I ain’t no damn child!”, he snaps.

Rick puts both hands up in a placating gesture and intervenes: “If it was just a drunken thing, there’s no problem, right? Not a big deal.”

Drake flashes his red eyes at Rick. The fucker is really trying his best to get rid of Drake, isn’t he? Sure, he’s just concerned for his people but he’s also the typical alpha-male, defending his position and his property. Drake does always rub those the wrong way, no matter how he doesn’t care for this macho bullshit. But this is about keeping up his end of a deal so if Rick wants a pissing contest, he can have one.

“I don’t break promises”, he states coldly, “not even drunken ones.”

“I don’t give a flyin’ fuck!” Daryl’ shouting now. “I don’t know what ya had to do with my brother but it sure as hell ain’t my problem.”

“Well, I’m sorry”, Drake shouts back exasperatedly, “there’s nothing I can do about it, okay? I can’t break it!”

“Can’t, as in… can’t?”, Carol's voice cuts in questioningly.

Everybody stops talking, looking from her to Drake.

He feels the flush creeping back onto his cheeks. “Yeah”, he confirms a little feebly.

Silence settles over the living room.

 

“That means… what? You have to stay?”, Rick inquires.

Drake shrugs. “If Daryl stays, I stay.” It’s as simple as that but his answer doesn’t sit so well with Daryl himself. The archer huffs and takes a step back from the counter to cross his arms in front of his chest, mirroring Drake.

Drake searches out his eyes and holds his gaze for a moment, to give importance to his words. “I’m sorry, I really can’t help it”, he says honestly. Daryl seems to believe him, because after a few seconds, the tension leaves his shoulders and he nods once.

“It’s settled then”, Carol pipes up again, “he stays.” She turns to Drake and looks him up and down before she ads: “He could be very helpful.”

Rick opens his mouth to say something but Drake can hear more people coming down the street and he perks up. “Someone’s coming”, he explains.

“See?”, Carol taunts while she goes back to preparing Judith’s food.

 

The subject is dropped instantly, when the other members arrive.

The group’s reaction to Drake varies. When Rick calls Carl back down and the boy descends the stairs with Judith on his arms, he appears to be mostly curious and less frightened. He keeps watching Drake but he doesn’t approach him, instead sitting down on the sofa at the other side of the room. The dark haired woman – Rosita – is still anxious but her heartbeat calms a little when she sees Carol, Rick and Daryl at ease next to Drake. Some of the other people seem curious, others look more distrustful and a few downright hostile. Nobody cares that a huge corpse is lying in their midst but the broken windows raise some eyebrows. However, they most likely accredit the mess to a grenade or something because they're not overly freaked out about it. Nonetheless, Drake tries to keep his eyes in check. No need to scare them off completely just yet.

Rick waits until everybody is gathered, before he begins to speak.

“I know, this has been a rough day for all of us”, he begins, “but we’ve been lucky. We’ve lost people, yes. But none of ours, none of the family.”

Drake cocks his head. Interesting. So there are others.

There’s a jumpy atmosphere to the meeting and people keep glancing at him, more or less nervously. Rick’s in full leader-mode now and Drake has to give him credit for the impeccable switch from mental overload to back in charge. He stays passive though and waits for Rick to continue, while he studies the group and their individual reactions.

“We’ve been attacked and we’ve been surprised by it, but that won’t happen again, we can’t let our guard down. So tomorrow, we’ll head out and scout the area. Track them down, get them before they get us.” He pauses dramatically and lets his gaze travel through the thin crowd.

Meanwhile, Carol has finished her cooking and walks over to the couch with a steaming bowl and a spoon in her hands. She doesn’t speak but the non-verbal intimateness with which the group interacts and parts way for her shows Drake how familiar these people are with each other.

“However, today we’ve gained a new member to our group.” Rick turns halfway to Drake and gestures towards him. “This is Drake.” He pauses again. “He’s rescued my daughter from a walker and I’m very grateful to him. He’s gonna stay with us now.” There’s a certain finality to his last words but what really hammers their meaning home is the added: “Treat him as one of our own.” A collective murmur starts up but no one questions Rick’s decision openly. From what Drake can pick up, people are generally reassured by Rick’s displayed trust in him.

Rick goes on, undeterred. “For now, we need to clean up and reinforce our security. I want the lookouts doubled, Maggie and Glenn will take the first watch together with Rosita and Abraham. I’ll patrol the fences and look for breaches with”, there’s the slightest hesitation in Rick’s voice before he continues and Drake’s almost sure only he can perceive it, “Michonne. The house has to be fixed, Daryl will help Drake with that. The rest of you can pitch in with the cleanup around town, but stay in pairs.”

 

Several things happen at the same time during Rick’s last sentences.

Rick points to each named person that he’s assigned to a task. In lieu of an official introduction, Drake gets to learn their names this way and most likely that’s why Rick bothers with the pointing.

When he comes to Michonne, the first thing Drake notices, is Rick’s tiny pause. One look at Daryl’s furrowed brows confirms that under normal circumstances, Daryl would have been the chosen one to accompany Rick instead of Michonne. Besides, Daryl seems pissed about the new agenda, as though being partnered with Drake instead of Rick is some kind of rebuke. Which in turn annoys Drake, because he can’t stand how Daryl keeps putting Rick on a pedestal.

Furthermore he notices, that Rick’s sudden change of heart towards him is quite a smart move. If you can’t get rid of something, use it to your advantage. If you can’t afford for someone to be your enemy, make an effort to keep them on your good side. It’s basic warfare, really.

But his most important observation is about Michonne’s sword.

“There’s plenty of work so let’s get…”, Rick almost finishes but Drake cuts him short.

“That’s the bitch with the katana!”, he exclaims surprised, pointing at Michonne.

Rick’s eyes widen in shock, but Drake can’t tell if it’s because Drake has interrupted his speech or because of his rather poor choice to quote directly. The woman in turn looks ready to murder him and actually lays her hand on the hilt of her weapon. “What did he just call me?” she growls.

“That’s what the guy I killed this morning said!”, he backpedals quickly. Not much better, he should really learn to think before he speaks.

 

Everyone start to speak at the same time then and Drake can barely differentiate one voice from the other.

“What?”, Michonne’s voice is almost raised to a scream.

“You killed someone? Rick, have you asked the questions?”, Maggie shouts.

“Who’s that sonofabitch?”, roars Abraham from the corner, his hand going to the machete at his belt.

Rick silences them all by letting his flat hand hit the countertop and shouting at the top of his lungs: “Calm down!” When the group has mostly settled down, he turns to Drake. “Care to explain that?”, he asks sourly.

“Um, well…”, Drake squirms internally, searching for the right words. He’s got the most captive audience ever. “Earlier today, I’ve been following this bunch of guys. They were real assholes, talking about how they’ve ransacked a camp this morning. One of ‘em mentioned you”, he gestures to a still fuming Michonne. “Called you the bitch with the katana and said how he’d rape you and shit. So I thought it’d be alright to get rid of them and…”, he thinks about a better expression but comes up empty handed, “… I killed them.”

A lot of people stare at him for a moment and it’s very weird because he’s used to ignoring and being ignored. He fights the blush that’s threatening to crawl up his neck again. “You killed them?”, Glenn asks disbelievingly. “How many were there?”, another dark haired girl inquires. Drake squirms a little more, before he caves in and says truthfully: “Six.”

“You killed six people this morning”, Michonne states flatly.

“They were really bad people?”, Drake suggests helpfully.

“How’d you do that?”, she demands to know and the tension in the room is almost tangible. “They were tough guys and six against one is quite a feat.” All eyes are on Drake now who’s desperately looking for a reasonable explanation, for the nth time that damn day.

“He works out a lot”, Daryl pipes up from the other side of the kitchen counter and Drake has time to think they’ve got to be kidding him before Carol bursts out laughing on the couch.


	6. Fanart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your support so far!!! I still can't wrap my head around the fact that some people actually seem to like my writing. You make me so happy :)!!!
> 
> As promised, I made some art! It hasn't quite turned out the way I wanted it to, I'm really bad at portraits! But at least I tried so I guess it's something.
> 
> The pic is based on a photograph of Brock O'Hurn, the sword is based on Ringil's Ravensfriend from the Land fit for Heroes series by Richard K. Morgan (if you haven't read those books, I can only recommend his incredible skill as an author)!

                                                    

**Some facts about Drake**

His motorcycle is a custom-built Erbacher. It's his most precious possession besides his sword.

His favorite band is Metallica but he's never been to a concert for obvious reasons. He's mostly convinced that rock and metal are the only acceptable music genres for real men (and everybody else, really).

He thinks man-buns are fashionable because he's got the hots for Chris Hemsworth as Thor (he's his favorite jerk-off-material right after Daryl since he's met him).

He's most comfortable in black boots, dark jeans, a white t-shirt and his beloved leather jacket.

He has long black hair and steel gray eyes that turn red when he's angry, agitated or embarrassed.

His wings are a silky black, too. They're supposed to be for fighting only but he cheats sometimes and sails the clouds just to clear his head.

He hates the cold, though he can't freeze to death even if he'd lie naked in the snow for a decade.

Contradictory to the story's trope about him working out a lot, he's rather lazy. His muscles build up naturally when he sleeps. Basically, he's like a big cat with a few wolfish traits. 

He doesn't require nourishment but he loves sweet stuff, good food and craft beer.

Neither does he need a lot of personal hygiene - his healing factor takes care of most of that - but he likes to take long hot showers (preferably in Daryl's company). 

He's a pervert. But truthfully, in my mind everybody is a pervert deep down. 

He's immortal. Once he's even been beheaded but his head and body have just grown back together. It was one of the most unpleasant experiences in his long life. 

He considers himself a sophisticated gay man who stands above the heteronormative need to prove his masculinity every other minute. He's completely unaware that his demeanor fits quite well into that heterosexual stereotype and he'd most likely be affronted if you'd confront him with that fact. 

He prefers cats over dogs but if it's cute and furry, he'll fall in love with it within a second anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently working on the next chapter - I'm sorry for the wait, I know I'm pretty slow. Please be patient with me!


	7. Butting heads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go with chapter 7! :)
> 
> Progress is still rather slow, I'm sorry. 
> 
> Rick and Drake continue with the head-butting and Daryl gets some background information about Drake.

The rest of the group isn’t quite as amused as Carol.

Confusion and mistrust are the emotions that dominate the room primarily, once again. A constant humming fills the air as most of the people talk at the same time, voicing their opinion. “Bullshit!”, Abraham’s voice carries over the noise, “I call bullshit!”

“Who is that guy? How can you trust him!”, the woman standing next to Michonne shouts exasperatedly at Rick. The leader’s patience seems a little strained, after the morning’s events. He’s currently pinching the bridge of his nose, presumably fighting off the beginnings of a severe headache. Carol seems ready to support him if necessary but for now she leaves the field to Rick.

“Sasha’s right, we don’t know that man!”, the dark haired girl from before agrees.

Rick lets his hand sink in order to answer the demands for an explanation. “Calm down”, he repeats his earlier words, more quietly this time. Slowly, the humming subsides and the group’s attention is once again centered on Rick. Drake’s curious as to how the man is going to calm things down, now that the cat is out of the bag. “Drake is not a threat”, he starts. “He’s rescued Judith and…”

“I’m sorry Rick, but that’s not enough”, the dark haired chick cuts in again. Despite her words, she glances at Drake apologetically before she looks back at their leader. Drake likes her already.

“I have to say, I agree with Tara on the matter”, the man next to her concurs. “Rescuing a member of a group is a highly efficient method of gaining said group’s confidence in oneself. What I’m saying is, it could be – and in all likelihood is – a ploy to gain our trust.” Drake blinks at the guy with the mullet and thinks he’s just detected the last ultra-nerd on earth. His words however, are fairly alleging and Drake feels his annoyance spiking again. His body is still aching slightly from the bullets. This has been the most stressful day in month, he almost misses the boredom.

“Look…”, Rick starts another futile attempt to put oil on troubled waters. Drake gauges the group’s emotional turmoil for a moment and finally decides to deliver Rick from his predicament. If he’s going to stay here, there’s no way that he’ll be able to keep his identity a secret, especially with Daryl around. He can just as well get it over with now, so he uncrosses his arms and steps forwards.

All eyes snap back to him and he deliberately slackens his mental hold on his darker side. Leaning forwards in a provocative gesture, he lets his eyes blaze and bares his fangs at them, while he growls deeply in his throat. The sound is meant to elicit a primal terror in the human mind, to kick their most instinctive fear into action and set their panic into a scrambling overdrive. The move doesn’t fail its purpose and he can smell the angst wafting off the gathered people in one big wave.

The majority of the group takes a collective step back and wide frightened eyes stare at him in shock. Everybody is holding their breaths in a visceral attempt to stay as inconspicuous as possible. Like covering prey hiding from the wolf. He suppresses a grin at the thought and reigns in his half-triggered state instead. It’s barely been a flash of his other side and people should recover quickly. Nonetheless, he pauses for a moment in order to let the news sink in.

“You can relax”, he states matter-of-factly, letting his gaze travel through the crowd. “As Rick said, I’m not a threat. I could kill you all in a heartbeat but I’m not here to harm you. And I don’t want nothing from you either. I don’t need your protection nor your resources.” He pauses and glances at the archer. “I’m just indebted to Daryl and I’m going to stay as long as I have to in order to pay that debt.” He makes sure that his tone is unmistakably final. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to bear with me”, he ads to alleviate the impact of his words a little.

With that said, he straightens and crosses his arms again to signal the end of his little speech. More than a few questioning looks are shot at Daryl, who seems about ready to curl up and die. Drake regrets putting him in that position but the sooner people start dealing with his existence, the sooner things will go back to normal.

“What… what the fuck was that?”, stammers Michonne, clearly voicing what everyone is thinking.

Drake rolls his eyes. “What did it look like?”

“How about we all really calm down now?”, Carol takes charge. She gets up from the couch and steps into the space between Rick and Drake in the kitchen on one side of the room and the group on the other. “Come on now, it’s not such a big surprise that there are things in this world we didn’t know about before. The dead rising from their graves and eating the living should have given us a clue, shouldn’t it?” Drake whoops internally because finally someone gets it.

A collective murmur starts up until Carl takes the word. “So what’s it all got to do with Daryl?”, he asks and Drake’s pretty impressed with the boy’s attentiveness. Still, he wants to do anything but discuss his emotions about the pact with these people.

Carol saves him once again. “That’s between the two of them”, she says sternly.

She sighs and continues: “Now, we can either decide to go with it and maybe Drake can help us protect our community. Or we can make it complicated”, she looks around the group pointedly. “What’s it going to be?”

 

Obviously, the group isn’t keen on complicated. Or maybe they’re too scared to press the matter further. Anyway, Drake gets to stay.

Carl is the first one to say: “If dad thinks it’s okay, then it’s okay. And he has rescued Judith, that’s enough for me.” His words seem to have some impact on the rest of the group because suddenly, people are muttering their consent, albeit reluctantly.

“Good, now that we’ve established that he stays, how about we get back to the original plan?”, Rick asks. Clearly, he’s pissed that people question his decision but follow Carol’s lead. Drake thinks, that this doesn’t bode too well for this little ricktatorship that he’s set up. Rick's good at leading people and he makes swift decisions in difficult situations based on smart thinking. But the need for these talents is diminished behind safe walls; it’s a trait better suited for the outside world.

“I still want the area scouted tomorrow, just in case. And I want the watch doubled. We can’t afford any more surprises”, Rick insists. Drake just can’t shake the tickling desire to provoke the man, so he contradicts him again: “Nah, there’s no one else around. Been in the area for a while, I would’ve noticed.”

Rick shoots him a look that could curdle milk before raising his hands in a gesture of defeat. “Fine, what do you suggest then?”, he asks flatly with a fake smile plastered on his face that’s more teeth than anything.

Drake turns to the gathered humans. “There’s a bunch of corpses - or walkers if you wanna call ‘em that - a few miles to the east that are headed this way. Right now, there are about twenty of ‘em. They could become a problem though, if we don’t take care of them soon. Maybe Abraham and Rosita, Glenn and Maggie can head out to get them?”

He looks at each named person questioningly before he continues: “Tara could take watch. There might not be anyone out there but it always pays off to have a lookout, even if it’s just to keep an eye on the inside of the camp. I’ll clean up the mess I’ve made and as Rick’s suggested, Daryl can help me with that. By the way, I’m sorry – again.” He emphasizes the last word.

“How do you know about the walkers?”, Glenn asks. “Can you… hear them, smell them or something?” His voice turns high pitched at the ridiculousness of the idea, that someone could be able to sense the corpses from so far away. Drake’s almost sorry to disappoint him. “I went past them yesterday”, he states flatly. “Oh okay”, Glenn answers a little embarrassed and Maggie suppresses a snort next to him.

“Fine, get to work then”, Rick snaps commandingly and finally, people start to file out of the damaged building.

 

Carl and Judith stay behind, as do Rick, Daryl, Drake and Carol. When Sasha has exited the house as the last of the group, Drake sighs deeply. “That went better than expected”, Carol states amusedly and Drake agrees silently. Rick on the other hand, swivels around from watching the other’s leave and takes an aggressive step towards Drake. “Care to explain what that was all about?”, he hisses.

“Relax!”, Drake grunts back, his tone bordering on indifference, “It worked out, didn’t it?”

Rick takes another step forwards, bringing him face to face with Drake. His voice is rich with dark promise. “I don’t know what it is that you want exactly”, Rick says lowly, “but if you turn out to be a problem after all, I’m going to find a way to take care of it.”

Drake grins right into Rick’s face. “What, you gonna shoot me again?”, he taunts and lets his eyes swirl red.

Rick looks ready to murder him but Daryl steps in by putting a hand on the man’s chest and pushing him backwards. “Come on, Rick!”, he chides and the leader lets himself be pulled away reluctantly. His eyes are still boring into Drake’s red ones, refusing to back down. “I’m gonna go, explain to Deanna’s people that we’ve got a newcomer. Carl, take care of Judith”, he spits out. The boy nods, though his father doesn’t even spare him a glance and they all watch together as Rick stomps through the unhinged door.

Drake sighs again. “What’s his problem?”, he grumbles.

“He’ll come around”, Carol reassures him and pats him on the shoulder as though she wasn’t afraid of him at all. She really is one badass motherfucker. “I’ll go and conjure up something for dinner. Carl, can you help me?” It’s more of a demand than a question and the boy follows suit with Judith on his arm, leaving Drake and Daryl behind.

 

“I’m really sorry for making things complicated. Honestly, I only wanted to help”, Drake assures the bowman with a pleading look. Somehow, it’s of utmost importance that Daryl trusts in his good intentions. The other man blinks at him for a moment, before he shakes his head slightly, causing his dark bangs to sway a little. “Nah, it’s okay. I get it”, he answers while he hitches the crossbow up on his shoulder.

Relief floods Drake’s senses and he smiles. He’s not even aware that his demeanor towards Daryl stands in stark contrast to the way he’s behaved around Rick. The corner of Daryl’s mouth quirks up in a crooked smile, too, and Drake’s stomach flutters. Daryl’s so damn sexy when he smiles like that, Drake just wants to taste those chapped lips. They’d probably have the flavor of whiskey and cigarettes, exactly like the sound of his rough voice. He pulls his mind out of the gutter with some effort and suggests that they get to work instead.

Drake picks up the smelly corpse in the same fashion as before and Daryl chuckles at his disgusted expression. “Not used to them, are you?”, he inquires amusedly. “No, they usually leave me alone”, Drake explains. Daryl hums and answers wistfully: “Must be nice, whish I could say the same.”

“So where do I put this?”, Drake repeats his earlier question and Daryl leads the way out of the house and down the street. They end up at a courtyard between two buildings and Drake throws the corpse onto a pile of others that has already been built up. The ground beneath them is blackened from the ashes of a recent fire and Drake can still smell the burned flesh, though this pile is fresh.

Afterwards, they pick up some utensils and tools from a shack around the corner. On their way back, they encounter Abraham, Rosita, Glenn and Maggie, who drive past them in a beat down white Ford. Abraham salutes them in a mock gesture of greeting, when they pass them on the wide street and Maggie waves with a hesitant smile from the backseat. They stop and step aside while they watch the vehicle pass and Drake waves back once, earning himself a fierce grin from Abraham behind the wheel.

“They’re good people”, he states to Daryl happily. “They’re family”, the archer answers and shrugs, as though that was the obvious reply.

 

While Drake busies himself with sweeping up the shards of glass in the living room, Daryl handles the damaged door. They work in companionable silence for about an hour, Drake progressing from sweeping up glass to mopping up the walker’s mess. Daryl’s a man of few words and Drake himself isn’t much of a chatterbox, either, so he’s fine with the archer’s taciturnity.

Still, when they’ve finished working separately and turn towards the broken windows, Drake can feel Daryl’s tension rising. He keeps throwing him side-glances while he holds up the transparent foil that Drake nails down into the window frame. They’re so close, Drake can feel the warmth radiating off of Daryl’s sweat-slick chest. The man smells deliciously earthy, distinctively male.

Drake sighs and straightens after hammering the last nail into the white wood of the second window. He turns around to Daryl and quirks one brow up. “So shoot”, he prompts. Daryl seems taken aback and stares at him questioningly. “What?”, he asks confused.

“I know you’re curious, so stop looking at me like that and just ask what you wanna know. I guess I owe you some answers after this morning”, he elaborates.

Daryl shifts nervously and licks his lower lip, obviously indecisive. Drake assumes that he’s weighting his curiosity against his principles. Daryl strikes him as a rather withdrawn guy who minds his own business and expects other people to do the same. Sounding out Drake is equivalent to crossing that line. Eventually, his interest seems to win out over his reluctance though.

“What are you?”, he repeats the question that has been directed at Drake multiple times that day. Drake sighs again. Of course, that’s what everybody wants to know.

“Depends”, he drawls, still averse to breaching the subject.

Daryl waits patiently for him to continue and Drake finally gives in. “It’s complicated”, he starts, “I’ve been around for a while, a few thousand years at least. Can’t remember exactly.” Daryl’s brows perk up at that and Drake shrugs with his right shoulder. “It all gets a little hazy over time.”

He launches into his speech after that, eager to get it over with. “I’ve been called a lot of things, depending on cultural backgrounds. To the Aztecs, I’ve been a god of war and sacrifice. According to the Egyptians I’ve been the god of storms and violence. The Greeks and Romans were quite irresolute about their deities so I’ve been taken for almost all of them at least once. The majority of Catholics take me for the devil himself. And the crazy guy from the apartment next door was pretty convinced that I’m an alien.”

Daryl stares at him as though he’s grown a second head. “The last one was a joke”, he clarifies, just to be safe. Daryl keeps staring so he tries a more serious approach. “I guess daemon comes closest”, he ponders aloud, “what with the wings and all. But to be honest, I don’t know.”

For a moment, neither of them says anything, then Daryl seems to catch himself and states drily: “That’s very… reassuring.”

Drake rolls his eyes and waves the hammer he’s currently holding through the air dismissively. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Why put a label on something that can’t be changed anyway?”

Daryl cocks his head contemplatively. “Guess not”, he agrees in his southern drawl. After a few seconds, he asks: “So what about the deal with Merle?”

Drake should have anticipated that question as well and this one is the trickiest yet. He squirms a little before he answers. “Well, that fits the daemon part, too. I can give people what they… desire”, he says slowly. “It could be something simple like good fortune in a game but the range is pretty big.” His thoughts flicker to Sara and for a second his heart aches. “There are rules though. Once I’ve made a promise, I have to hold up my end of the deal. Also, it’s easier to fulfill a pact if I’m attached to the cause. Because after sealing a pact, I’m connected to the other party emotionally. That’s how I knew Merle was dead.”

Daryl takes a breath and focuses on something in his mind for a second, before concentrating on Drake again. “Are there other’s like you?”

Now, that’s a new one. Drake has to smirk at the thought. “Yeah, there are others. Not many though and we avoid each other at any cost. When we meet there’s bound to be some serious head-butting”, he answers. “And there’s only one that’s stronger than me. She’s insanely powerful. Could probably end this world with the snap of ‘er fingers.”

Daryl looks pretty shocked at the revelation so Drake hastens to ad: “But she’s not likely to do that. She stays low-key most of the time. Haven’t even registered her presence for a few decades.”

“So you’re tellin’ me we’ve been livin’ on a time bomb at the mercy of some daemonic bitch this whole time?”, he inquires aghast but if Drake reads the expression on his face right, he’s half-joking.

Drake snorts but his eyes turn serious when he answers: “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

“Yeah yeah, I got the damsel in distress part”, Daryl grunts, while he reaches for the next foil. “Don’t know what that idiot Merle must’ve thought when he got that idea.” Drake chuckles but comments truthfully: “Honestly, I think he really cared for you and tried to do right by you for once.”

Daryl doesn’t answer but Drake can see a small smile tugging at the archer’s lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan to acclimate Drake further into the group in the next chapter. I'm sure, there's gonna be some fun interaction! ;) We're getting close to the smutty part, too. I hope you're still interested! Thank you for reading and commenting so far!!! <3


	8. Following one's Heart

By the time Carol is ready to serve dinner, all the windows are taped over with transparent foil and the door closes again. There’s a little space between door and doorframe though. Drake hopes guiltily that it doesn’t attract too much attention. All in all, the house is inhabitable again but it has seen better days. Like, yesterday for example.

Carol has made a deliciously smelling stew and everyone who steps into the building comments approvingly. The group from before arrives one after the other to get their share of the food. They scatter among the living room to eat, using every piece of furniture in no conceivable order. Drake gets a lot of insecure looks but no one dares to talk to him directly. Not even when Carol presses a ladle into his hand and orders him to help with serving the stew. Most of them simply stretch out their hands, gingerly taking the cutlery from him with lowered eyes. A few mutter a quiet thanks under their breaths.

When everyone has a steaming bowl in their grasp, Carol looks around the room critically. “Where’s Gabriel?”, she interrogates no one in particular in a strict tone. “Err, he was too afraid to come”, Tara quirks up from an armchair in the corner. “He said, he’d eat with Deanna’s people.” Carol huffs and proceeds to fill another two bowls for Drake and herself. Rick doesn’t make an appearance either and no one comments on the fact so Drake assumes he’s still busy licking his wounds.

Carol pushes a delicate hand between his shoulder blades and directs him over to the sofa, effectively planting him down between Daryl and Sasha. They scoot over to make room for him on the narrow couch and Drake can feel the unease poring off the humans. “I’m… I can eat somewhere else”, he protests weakly. Carol’s eyes narrow and she seems ready to retort with a rebuke but Daryl’s quicker. “Don’t flatter yourself, Gabriel is afraid of everythin’”, he says around a spoonful of stew. Sasha and Tara both snicker into their bowls.

“True”, Abraham cuts in from the small table by the window. “That priest is constantly about to shit his pants.” Rosita, who’s sitting next to him and Michonne at the table, nods affirmatively. “I tried to teach him how to handle the machete the other day but he almost fainted.” A collaborative chuckle of assent goes through the room and suddenly, the tension loosens up.

After a while of companionable munching, Sasha clears her throat next to him and puts the bowl down on her lap. “Drake, can I ask you a question?”, she requests cautiously. He swallows and looks at her a little surprised. Daryl’s presence next to him is one hell of a distraction, especially because he seems less queasy around Drake since their earlier conversation. Drake can feel his warmth much more prominently than Sasha’s despite the fact that both are equally affected by the sweltering summer day. “Yeah, sure”, he answers after a second.

“You’re not human, right?”, she starts slowly. “So how do walkers react to you? I mean, are you even on their radar?”

And that’s the beginning of the end of Drake’s comparatively peaceful dinner. He answers her question patiently, thankful for the convenient icebreaker. But afterwards, Maggie wants to know everything about his eyes and why they change color. Next, Abraham asks him if he’s ever encountered a werewolf of all things. Which leads to Daryl excitedly telling him that he’s seen a chupacabra once. Drake doesn’t know what that’s supposed to be but he assures them that there’s no such thing. He can’t help but snicker at their disappointment and soon, they’re all badgering him with questions.

Everything goes quite well until Glenn wants no know if he uses a weapon or simply doesn’t need one. Drake shoots up from his position on the sofa, his eyes going wide with the sudden realization and the group flinches with surprise. “Oh my god!”, he exclaims, already setting his bowl down on the coffee table. “I forgot Baby in the woods!”

Several pairs of very confused eyes blink at him. “You forgot a baby in the woods?”, Carol asks confused. “No, I… my bike!”, Drake explains exasperatedly, “I left it in the woods this morning together with my sword!”

“You named your bicycle ‘Baby’?”, Carl asks in a disbelieving tone. “My motorcycle”, Drake corrects absentmindedly. In his mind, he’s already with his most precious possession that’s currently all alone in the forest. “I have to get ‘er. I’ll be right back!” Before someone can stop him, he’s trough the door that’s advantageously wide open due to the heat. He might have forgotten to use the handle again otherwise.

 

Fortunately, neither Baby nor his sword have moved an inch from where he’s left them this morning. He strokes the leather of the seat lovingly before swinging himself onto it and letting the bike roar to life. When he gets back to the camp fifteen minutes later, the sun is setting and converting the hot asphalt into an image of molten gold. Drake’s ready to jump the fence again in order to open the gate himself but to his joyful surprise, Daryl’s waiting for him at the entrance. He passes through and parks her up the street, right in front of the house.

Some members of the group are waiting for him on the porch, seemingly curious about his unexpected departure. Daryl jogs after him and reaches the house at the same time Drake cuts the engine off. Daryl’s a bit winded from the run but he manages to whistle approvingly as he takes Baby in nonetheless.

“She’s a real beauty”, he compliments, clearly entranced with the motorcycle. “Don’t I know it”, Drake answers with a prideful smile. “Could I take ‘er for a ride sometime?”, the archer asks in an awestruck tone. “Sure thing”, Drake agrees, happy about the other man’s interest in his beloved bike.

“Wow, look at how they’re bonding over some metal parts on a motor”, Maggie comments flatly from the porch. “Men”, Carol states before she goes back inside, as though that one word explained everything.

“Hey!”, Drake calls after her. “Don’t insult my Baby! It’s not her fault that she’s perfect!”

The rest of the evening passes rather uneventfully. His escapade about the motorcycle seems to have dissipated remaining doubts about his intentions. The group starts to relax around him and he feels utterly fortunate for their acceptance. Daryl engages in some serious tech-talk about bikes with him and Drake luxuriates in the man’s attention. They sit on the porch and talk quietly in the twilight.

When Rick returns from his leadership duties an hour later, he looks exhausted. According to his report, the other inhabitants of Alexandria are pretty shaken from the day’s events. No one seems to have disputed Rick’s decision to let the newcomer stay with his group. Most likely, they’re glad that Rick’s taken all of the responsibility off their backs.

Drake feels sorry for Rick’s tired state and he tries his best to keep their strained relationship from combusting any further. He stays calm and gives Rick his space. He doesn’t even argue when Rick declares bedtime as though they’re children. Daryl explains that he sleeps on the porch most of the summer nights so Drake simply stretches out next to him. He keeps a respectful distance between them but Daryl doesn’t seem to mind his proximity anyway.

Belatedly, Drake remembers that his shirt is still bloodstained and filthy but right now he’s too tired to care. The fact that his body doesn’t actually need physical rest has no impact on sleep’s allure at all.

 

He wakes up from the growling emptiness in his stomach. Getting used to the lack of food again is going to be a pain in the ass. And eventually, he’s gonna have to endure another dry spell. Because even if times are good and prosperous, they always pass sooner or later. It’s the natural order outbalancing itself. For now though, he’s preoccupied with the very fresh memory of froot loops and delicious stew.

The second thing he notices is his insistent hard-on that’s pressing uncomfortably against his zipper. Luckily, he’d thrown his leather jacket over himself last night in order to keep warm on the raw planks of the porch. He doesn’t really need the added comfort, he can fall asleep practically anywhere but it gets chilly in the early morning hours and he prefers things cozy.

At the present, he’s thankful for the thick material covering his mid-section. Even in his half awake state, he can hear the buzzing energy that’s filling the sunny air above the camp. The Alexandrians are on their feet already; multiple voices are carried to his ear by the warm breeze. He can pick up snippets of talk about everyday life problems. Daryl’s presence beside him is long gone, his smell faded away in the midmorning summer air.

“Oh look, sleeping beauty is awake”, Carol’s voice says from his left in a dry tone. She’s probably standing in the open doorway again. In retrospect, they should’ve left the door unhinged, it never seems to be closed anyway. He groans and scrubs his hands over his face, refusing to open his eyes. “Go away”, he mumbles weakly, his voice rough from sleep.

“Not a morning person, are you?”, she asks amusedly. “Get up, you can help me with the laundry.”

He groans again and she ads smugly: “I made cookies.”

It doesn’t take much more convincing than that. He’s in the kitchen shoveling chocolate chip cookies down his throat in record time, as soon as his erection has gone down enough. If he’d had to decide between chocolate and sex, it would be a tough choice. Sex would still win of course but Carol’s cookies are a real treat.

That thought brings back memories of last night’s dreams and he blushes a little even though he’s alone. Carol is currently doing laundry in the upstairs bathroom. Suddenly, Drake’s glad for Daryl’s absence because the man had definitely taken on the starring role in his nightly fantasies. Images of Daryl braced against the wooden railing of the porch flash before his inner eye; images of Daryl writhing against him, sweat-soaked and moaning his name.

Drake shakes his head to clear his mind and wills down the growing hardness between his legs. Instead of drooling over the archer, he focuses on helping Carol. She assigns him the task of hanging out the laundry and he carries the huge basket out onto the lawn of the front yard. Several clothesline ropes are installed between the house and the next building and he hangs up the load she’d given him as well as another one after that. The task conveniently gets him fresh clothes and a quick scrub under the tab in the bathroom. He steals some more cookies each time he passes the tray on his way through the kitchen as payment for his assistance anyway.

Furthermore, he takes time to pay little Judith a visit. She’s happily throwing some plastic toys around her playpen in the upstairs bedroom when he enters. The toddler grins mostly toothlessly at him and crows enthusiastically when he picks up a rubber duck for her entertainment. A few minutes later, Carol sticks her head through the door and chides him for slacking off. He whispers to the little girls that she’s supposed to keep his cookie-shenanigans a secret and gets back to work.

When he’s finally finished with his task, Carol suggests that he should explore the town for a bit, get acquainted with the layout. He likes to help out and Carol is good company but somehow he’s glad to escape her bossy mom-attitude for a while. He strolls through the streets in the midday heat aimlessly, encountering Carl and a bunch of other kids his age at the pond by the mid-town square. Carl waves excitedly at him and judging from the curious looks of his companions, he’s told them some interesting stories about Drake’s arrival. He waves back but doesn’t get closer. He’s not sure how the other teenagers might react to him and he’s not keen on more conflicts.

The townspeople he doesn’t recognize get the same treatment, he’s exceptionally friendly but he keeps his distance. They seem to approve because no one engages in more than a brief exchange with him. Most of them wave or nod in greeting, some throw him a smile and a few words of welcome before they’re on their way. He feels comfortable with the setup and reminds himself to thank Rick later. If it wasn’t for the man’s preparations, he’d have to face distrust and hostility again.

He ponders searching for Daryl to see if he can lend a hand with something, but truthfully he’s just fishing for an excuse to enjoy the archer’s company again. He’s about to go look for the other man when he stumbles upon Michonne in a deserted courtyard. She’s swirling her katana around in purposefully controlled moves, obviously going through her training procedure. Drake slows to a stop and watches for a moment. The woman creates a beautiful image, moving gracefully and elegantly despite the midday heat. She emanates the air of a true fighter, determined concentration edged onto her features. With the glinting sword in her hand, she looks gorgeous.

Without a second thought, he enters the courtyard and calls over the space between them: “Good job on the speed but your legwork is crap and your posture needs an upgrade, too.” She whirls around with wide eyes and for a moment, he’s sure she’s going to come at him. Then she recognizes him and lets the sword sink.

“Don’t sneak up on people like that!”, she snaps and he raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Sorry, didn’t mean to”, he apologizes. She’s still winded from the shock of his sudden appearance but she recovers quickly. “What do you mean, my legwork is crap?”, she inquires somewhat offended.

“Come on, you can do better than that”, he elaborates and she narrows her eyes at him. Drake sighs and stretched his hand out for her katana. “Give me your sword, I’ll show you”, he offers and she hands it over reluctantly. He proceeds to demonstrate the way she steps back where she’s supposed to step sideways. Michonne seems a little miffed that he’s lecturing her but she’s too interested in his expertise to object.

Soon enough, they’re absorbed in their lesson and they only pause when Michonne takes a sip from the water bottle she’s brought to her training session. Before they know it, the shadows are stretching long on the grass and Drake suggests unwillingly that they should head back for dinner. By then, Michonne is dripping with sweat and she’s breathing hard but she begs for a repeat nevertheless. They agree to meet up regularly and Drake assures her that he’s gonna bring his own sword the next time.

 

The next couple of days pass in a similar fashion.

Drake keeps sleeping on the porch next to Daryl and his dreams grow ever more vivid. He hopes that the other man doesn’t pick up on his arousal but he thinks that he’s been pretty inconspicuous about it so far. However, he gets distracted by Daryl every other minute and his desire for the other man increases steadily.

Every morning, Drake goes through the routine of improving Michonne’s sword fighting skills. Of course, she’s no real match for him and he’s got to remind himself to be careful with his broadsword against her flimsy blade. But she’s a quick learner and he enjoys the opportunity to use his weapon in combat again, even if it’s just for training.

During the day, Drake supports Rick and the others with tasks around the camp. Mostly, they consist of lifting stuff that’s too heavy for regular humans. He complains jokingly that they abuse him as a humanoid crane but he bears with it. Besides, Rick seems honestly thankful for his help and they form some sort of unspoken truce. Rick even asks for his opinion after admitting grudgingly that Drake’s much more experienced in defense strategies. That doesn’t stop Drake from provoking the other man from time to time though and he’s still jealous as soon as he sees the dynamic duo together. Rick should really learn to keep his hands to himself. He’s constantly touching Daryl, patting him on the back or bumping their shoulders together when they walk too close to each other for Drake’s comfort.

Otherwise, he gets along formidably well with the group. There’s always a moment for idle conversation between the habitual pattern of everyday life during the apocalypse. That fact that he’s a good listener helps with their increasing openness around him and gradually he learns more about their background. He understands Rick’s personality better after he finds out about Lori and the prison. His respect and sympathy for each member of the group grows continually with the knowledge of their harsh past.

Carl and his friend even start to idolize him a little, much to Drake discomfort. They tend to follow him around in a safe distance, apparently thinking that he doesn’t notice them stalking him. They’re especially keen on watching Michonne and him practice until she shoos them away with a threat. At least he gets to lecture Carl about music this way, because someone has to teach the kid that Jennifer Lopez is not an option. He finds an AC/DC Best Of for him instead and the boy rushed off in search of his battery-powered CD player with the album clutched to his chest. Drake thinks to himself that he’s probably just saved the next generation from its impending doom.

On the fourth day after his arrival, Daryl asks him if he’d be interested in accompanying him on a hunt the next morning. Drake beams at him with a smile that could probably light up the entire East Coast. Of course, he says yes. He hasn’t even been outside the walls for half a week and the prospect of a break from the camp is tempting in itself. Getting alone time with Daryl on top of that seems like a lottery win. He can’t wipe the grin off his face the entire day.

During dinner, the atmosphere is giddy. The last couple of days have been peaceful and free of unexpected disturbances. People are relaxed and happy, luxuriating in the downtime from the apocalyptic horrors. Jokes and jibes are exchanged and laughter rings through the house.

After asking Drake to pass the ketchup, Tara smirks at him as though she knows something he doesn’t. He’s gotten used to the question and answers game that they’ve got going on a regular basis but this is new. He raises one eyebrow at her and her smirk widens even more. “You’ve been practicing with Michonne again this morning?”, she asks innocently enough but the ensuing small giggle gives her away.

“Yeah”, he answers after taking another bite, “so what?”

She shifts forwards a little on her seat, attention now focused entirely on Drake. He feels weirdly uncomfortable under her scrutiny since he isn’t sure what she’s getting at, yet.

“So”, she draws out the consonant dramatically before she continues in a rush, “do you like her?”

Drake’s a little taken aback at the question. Noticing how all other conversation has died down, he cringes internally. Tara wouldn’t be this nosy if Michonne was around. Unfortunately, neither Carol nor Michonne are present and therefore unable to come to his rescue.

“Of course I like her, why wouldn’t I?”, he answers deliberately vague.

Tara rolls her eyes impatiently and Maggie pipes up from the couch. “But do you like her?”, she insists, putting emphasis on the word ‘like’. “As in do you have an interest in her”, Glenn clarifies, supporting his wife as usual.

Drake sets his plate down carefully and sighs. He notes that Daryl pretends to be preoccupied with his dinner but he’s been chewing on the same bite for far too long to feign his indifference successfully. Rick on the other hand glances over with open curiosity.

“Michonne is hot n’ all”, he explains and several pairs of eyes light up excitedly at his words, “but I’m gay, so I’m not interested.”

Drake has never hidden his sexuality, hasn’t even ever given hiding it a thought. He doesn’t rub it into people’s faces either, though. He gets how it might be a surprise for them but honestly he’s expected them to figure it out by themselves. So he’s a little offended by their apparent shock. Tara’s mouth literally hangs open and Abraham fights a coughing fit after choking on his orange juice. Daryl has stopped chewing altogether, pretense forgotten and Rick is staring at him with wide eyes.

“For real?”, Glenn asks disbelievingly.

“Is that a problem?”, Drake growls challengingly. His usual strategy to deal with homophobe assholes consists of ripping their heads off.

A chorus of negations resounds, people hurrying to reassure him of their acceptance. Tara even tells him that she’s a lesbian and that no one minds.

“Are you sure you’re gay?”, Abraham asks with a wheezy voice after recovering from his coughing. Drake eyes him dubiously. “Yes…?”, he answers, his tone a mixture of defensiveness and confusion. “You just don’t strike me as the type, is all”, Abraham explains.

“Well, I’m sure”, Drake reassures him with an ironic undertone. “Besides, why wouldn’t I strike you as the type?”, he asks genuinely curious.

Rosita barks out a laugh. “Have you seen yourself strutting around with that huge sword strapped to your back?” Her comment elicits a round of laughter. “I don’t strut around!”, Drake complains sulkily but that only leads to more laughter.

In the end, he crosses his arms in front of his chest and leans back in his chair pouting. “You’re all stupid!”, he comments but an affectionate grin is tugging at the corner of his lip.


	9. Going in for the Kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not quite happy with how this chapter has turned out but I can't seem to put a finger on it. I'll just go with the flow and post it as it is. 
> 
> I'll go over the whole story again as soon as I'm finished anyway. Hopefully, I'll be able to smooth out some mistakes that I've made - thanks for bearing with my sloppy style!!! 
> 
> And of course, thanks again for reading, commenting & for kudos!!! <3

Drake’s sleep is restless, regardless of the evening’s positive mood. He blames Rick.

The man had laughed with the others, albeit a little more quietly, a little more subdued. He’s not appalled by Drake’s sexuality and he give’s the guy bonus points for his open-mindedness. But his behavior has finally convinced Drake that captain crazypants isn’t fully aware of his own desires, either. That makes it easier to forgive his closeness with Daryl but it makes their rivalry about the archer a lot more difficult. 

If Drake would even try to approach Rick about his obvious crush on Daryl, he’d most likely be the first person to confront the leader with his homosexual tendencies. Given their constant competitive head-butting, Rick wouldn’t take it too well coming from Drake. Furthermore, he’d never seen Daryl react to Rick’s possessiveness with anything but clueless admiration for his leader. Apparently, he’s as unaware of Rick’s feelings as the man himself.

Moreover, nobody else seems to have noticed Rick’s blatant hard-on for his second in command. Drake can’t begin to fathom how people are unable to see their leader’s distinctive attitude towards Daryl. However, that excludes the possibility to let someone else do the talking in Drake’s place. 

That leaves him with the only other option: ignoring the problem until it solves itself. Not exactly his forte.

On top of that, Daryl had resumed his act of indifference right away despite the fact that Drake had been able feel his uneasiness. That hadn’t boded too well for their planned hunting trip. For the first time in his life, Drake feels insecure about his sexuality. Daryl doesn’t seem like the judging type but what if he wants to keep his distance now? He’s probably not used to being confronted with gay men and the redneck upbringing might not help the situation, either. 

All in all, Drake’s mind whirrs the whole night and sleep doesn’t come easy. When he’s finally managed to fall asleep, his dreams are for once not arousing but haunting.

 

Daryl wakes him up at the first light but in Drake’s opinion, it’s not even dawn yet. He yawns and is more than tempted to roll over and go back to sleep but the prospect of a day alone with Daryl is a strong motivator. And Daryl still wants to go, which is a relief. 

They pack up provisions in the kitchen, tiptoeing around the house and head out on their bikes afterwards. The roaring engines make their efforts in the kitchen seem useless but at least they’ve tried and the noise can’t be helped anyway. 

The ride is fairly long, at least an hour and a half. Daryl had explained that he’d exhausted the hunting grounds closer to the camp. Also, game is likely to avoid the town due to the constant activity behind the fence. Still, Drake suspects that the archer’s real reason is the simple desire to get away for a while. He can sympathize; the permanent company behind Alexandria’s walls is nice but taxing. 

About half the way to their destination, Drake slows down at an intersection and asks timidly if Drake would mind if they switched. Of course, Drake can’t deny the bowman anything and he has already agreed to let Daryl take her for a ride on the first day they’ve met. When he slides off of Baby and lets Daryl climb on the seat, his emotions switch back and forth between the man and the bike. On one hand, letting someone else ride his motorcycle makes him incredibly anxious. On the other hand, Daryl sitting on his bike is a huge turn-on. 

His eyes are still glued to Baby in a wistful stare when he himself gets on Daryl’s motorcycle. As soon as he’s settled down though, Daryl’s remaining body warmth floods his tights and groin. All other thought is whisked from his mind in an instant. Riding the bike without crashing into the other man or the roadside ditch turns into a real challenge. 

From then on, he knows he’s lost because pulling his mind out of the gutter is going to be impossible without the opportunity to distance himself from the man. The confusing mixture between simple sexual attraction and emotions borne from the pact is gnawing at him once again. He’s already falling behind Daryl a little in order to stare at his perfect ass that’s currently molded against Baby’s seat. Hopefully, Daryl accredits it to the fact that Drake doesn’t know the way. Thankfully, they arrive at their destination without incident and Daryl leads them into the underbrush after they’ve hidden the bikes somewhat. 

 

The hunting is fun. 

It has been a long time since Drake has been on a hunt, not counting him stalking the bad guys a few days ago. Last time, he’d accompanied some Duke or Duchess he can’t quite recall. He remembers chasing a boar on horseback though, the exited barking of the dogs is still ringing in his ears. A hunt is always a thrill, even if bringing down the game isn’t an actual challenge for Drake. 

Daryl is an excellent hunter and Drake is quite impressed. The others have told him jokingly that the archer has a taste for squirrels but he hadn’t thought he’d be this skilled. At least, Merle’s tales about his prowess as a hunter and the photograph should have tipped him off but somehow Daryl’s abilities exceed Drake’s expectations. The man blends in with the forest in a fashion that requires years of practice. He’s clearly at home in the woods and his success rate is correspondingly high. 

The best part is that they work perfectly as a team. They don’t even need to talk, they communicate on an instinctive level like a pack of wolves that are hot on the scent. Daryl seems quite impressed with how easily Drake falls into line with him. For once, his company doesn’t need instructions on when to be silent and how to avoid treading on a trail. Drake doesn’t even need to use his eyes to follow a track, his nose is more than capable. He senses game far before Daryl does but he holds back because he enjoys watching the other man in action.

Soon, they’ve got a bunch of rabbits and some squirrels. If they want bigger game, they have to keep in mind that it needs to be carried. Drake is strong enough to manage the load but hunting is not as much fun if you’re weighted down. They prefer to savor the day first and when noon rolls around, they settle down in the shade of a big oak. If not for the occasional passing walker, it’d have been a perfectly peaceful day. 

Drake stretches and sighs contently while Daryl sips on his water. For a while, they doze lazily in the shade, glad to have escaped the midday heat. “Can I ask you another question?”, Daryl breaks the silence unexpectedly. 

Drake blinks at him. The archer’s eyes are still closed and he’s leaning back against the tree’s trunk right next to Drake himself. They’re so close that their shoulders brush together on the rough bark and Drake could count the lashes on Daryl’s lids. He can hear the steady calm thump of the man’s heartbeat and his delicious smell fits even better into the surroundings of the forest. Daryl’s gorgeous like that, Drake can’t find a better word to describe the man. 

Drake’s own heartbeat picks up and his voice is a little breathy when he answers: “Yeah?” 

Daryl doesn’t open his eyes and takes a moment to reposition his back more comfortably against the tree. “Bet the folks didn’t call you Drake back in the day. I mean, it’s not a common name for an Aztec god, right? So where did ya get it?” 

Drake chuckles and Daryl opens his eyes at last to watch him with a questioning look. “Long story”, Drake explains his amusement. “But the short version is, that I’ve been taken for a vampire once. Several times, actually, but that certain time it was especially inconvenient. A whole town was trying to impale me on pitchforks and wooden stakes.” 

He shakes his head and grins at the memory. “I had barricaded myself in an abandoned castle and I was almost ready to fight my way through the mob when Ray arrived and helped me out. I’ve told you about her before, remember? She’s the only one of my kind who’s stronger than me.” 

Daryl nods to show that he’s still following. “Anyway, she talked them out of skewering me and I’ve been indebted to her ever since. The fun part is, that I had gone by the name of Vlad III. Draculea back then and…”

Daryl interrupts him with a disbelieving snort. “Now you’re telling me you’re not only a god but fuckin’ Dracula as well? Seriously?” Drake cringes at the sarcastic tone. 

“Sounds pretty weird when you put it like that”, he acknowledges. “But the back-story is quite complicated. I had a deal with the family that was ruling the principality of Walachia back then. And ‘drac’ means devil in Rumanian so Ray thought it was enormously entertaining to nickname me Drake. And somehow, it stuck.” 

Daryl barks out a laugh and Drake bumps his fist into the man’s ribs. “Don’t laugh at me, it’s not my fault! And besides, I gave the title to someone else after that ordeal”, he defends himself but Daryl keeps snickering anyway. 

“So you made someone else Dracula”, Daryl comments, feigning a serious face but failing miserably. 

“Fine, make fun of me then”, Drake pretends to sulk. “At least my name’s creative! Ray’s just derived hers from Re and that’s totally boring.” 

 

They fall back into companionable silence again, occasionally broken by Daryl’s snickering. For a long time, they just relax in the gentle breeze and luxuriate in the soothing lack of apocalyptic hassle. Drake can’t refrain from glances over at his companion from time to time. Daryl appears exceptionally carefree and at ease, a good look on him. 

Somehow, watching Daryl’s relaxed state creates a warm glow inside Drake’s chest. He can practically feel the connection between them singing with satisfaction. Daryl’s feeling good right now and that means Drake is currently fulfilling his part of the pact as effectively as possible. For a moment, Drake yearns for it to stay this way forever. 

Daryl must have felt Drake’s gaze on him because he opens his eyes and cocks his head at him. Drake’s mouth goes dry under the searching look. He can feel his cheeks heat up and the red swirls into his own eyes uncontrollable. It feels like their surroundings fade to nothing and the whole world reduces itself to the two of them. His own heart beats so loud that he can’t even hear Daryl’s over the sound.

Daryl’s voice is soft when he speaks, making the smoky roughness even more prominent. His searching dark blue eyes never leave Drake’s face. “Can I ask you another ques…”, he begins but Drake cuts him off by leaning forwards and gently laying his lips against Daryl’s. He braces his weight against the forest floor between them on one hand while the other comes up to cradle Daryl’s cheek. The touch is barely there, as if Drake’s carefully asking for permission. He’s almost convinced that the other man’s either going to run or to deck him any second now.

But Daryl’s lips feel incredibly warm and inviting against his so Drake dares to press a little harder into the kiss. The archer responds slowly, pressing back the tiniest fraction. 

He’s kissing Daryl and Daryl’s kissing back. The thought is thrilling and yet the kiss tastes achingly sweet on his lips. Daryl curls his fingers around the wrist of Drake’s hand and he slides it gently from his cheek to his neck. Drake pulls slightly and the archer follows the motion without resistance, bringing them closer together. 

For a moment, Drake’s not sure if he’s allowed to go further, but he’s not sure if he’d be able to stop, either. Then Daryl’s fingers tighten on his wrist and Drake slides his tongue against Daryl’s mouth in answer. The other man responds in kind and suddenly, the kiss turns deep. 

Drake’s mind stops and turns to liquid. 

When they finally part, they’re both breathless. Their eyes meet again, silently gauging each other’s reaction. Drake licks his lower lip subconsciously, chasing Daryl’s taste. The other man’s gaze follows the motion of his tongue attentively. “You had a question?”, Drake reminds him with a rough voice.

“Nothin’”, Daryl mumbles, his cheeks turning pink.

He averts his eyes and focuses on the forest floor, obviously out of his comfort zone now. “Ever done that before?”, Drake pulls the other man’s attention back to himself. Daryl shakes his head in a curt move, as if he was embarrassed and eager to drop the subject. 

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to”, Drake reassures him softly, searching the archer’s eyes out with his own. Daryl holds his gaze and nods again, more sincerely this time. “I know”, he says. 

Drake had anticipated a different kind of reaction. He’d almost expected Daryl to insist that he’s straight and maybe even start a fight to prove his point. Instead, the bowman seems pretty composed. Nonetheless, Drake’s aware that Daryl will need time to come to terms with what has happened and Drake’s prepared to give the man some space. 

Therefore, he agrees when Daryl suggests that they should head on and they gather their supplies before they resume their hunt. They don’t touch again but Drake can feel Daryl’s eyes on him constantly. Their relationship is now irreversibly altered.

 

The knowledge that Daryl’s not averse to kissing him is heady by itself. The fact that he’d actually kissed him back makes Drake almost high and he’s filled with a giddy energy. He can’t believe his luck, because his attraction seems indeed to be reciprocated. The thought causes a warm flutter in his stomach. 

For a while, they walk beside each other at ease but quite rapidly they become overly aware of each other’s presence. The way Daryl keeps glancing at him unobtrusively flusters Drake and a certain kind of tension builds up between them. They remain silent though, keeping their focus on the trail and metaphorically pussyfooting around each other instead. Drake can just feel that Daryl’s as affected as himself but he doesn’t want to pressure him into anything. So Drake tries to concentrate on the task at hand rather than Daryl moving through the forest with a sinuous fluency. 

The heat isn’t quite as scorching now that noon has passed but it’s still stifling outside of the forest. Hence they keep to the trees but they’re following a deer and the slot leads out of the woods eventually. Daryl motions for him to stay close and Drake doesn’t need to be told twice. He slides in line with the archer and breathes in the man’s unique scent together with the smell of the deer they’re following. 

They’re closing in on their prey now and the tension of the hunt starts to blend together with the sexual tension between them. Drake can feel Daryl’s lust spiking as well but he can’t differentiate between arousal and excitement from the chase anymore. It’s an exhilarating mixture, calling on Drake’s most basic instincts – to fuck and to kill.

The deer’s scent becomes overpowering and Drake can feel the grip on his trigger slip slightly. After mere minutes, they reach the edge of the wood where the forest floor turns into an asphalt street that leads to a few houses nearby. The deer is nibbling on some low hanging branches in an overgrown front yard, unaware of their proximity. 

Daryl comes to a stop and hefts his crossbow up, his muscles bunching deliciously under his toned skin from the weight. Drake can smell the eagerness on Daryl but the archer aims carefully, waiting for the right moment nonetheless. However, when the arrow whizzes from the weapon, Drake knows instantly that the shot’s not gonna slay the animal. Daryl’s aim is off by mere inches.

Before Drake can rethink his actions, he darts forwards and in a split second, he reaches his startled prey. Instinct takes over and he triggers halfway before sinking his sharp teeth into the animals soft throat. Warm blood floods his mouth and he can pinpoint the exact moment when death leaves the body limp in his grasp. Reluctantly, he lets go of his kill and lays the game down onto the lawn. 

Daryl emerges from the forest to his right, crossbow hanging uselessly from his hand. Drake wipes his lips with the back of his hand, observing the archer’s approach with watchful eyes. “Thought I had her”, Daryl calls over, when he’s in easy earshot. He sounds almost pissed that Drake has taken his kill. He relaxes a little because his deer-slaying fangs don’t seem to put Daryl off. On the other hand, the man is known to eat raw squirrel for breakfast so maybe ripping a deer’s throat out won’t traumatize him as much.

“Your aim was off”, Drake states superfluously when Daryl reaches the front yard. The archer doesn’t reply and for a moment and Drake wonders if he has judged too quickly. Then he takes in Daryl’s blown pupils, his tense shoulders and the obvious bulge in his pants.


	10. Getting laid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What it says in the title. 
> 
> Please keep in mind that it gets very smutty from here on! If that's not your cup of tea, please reconsider reading this chapter!
> 
> For everybody else: have fun ;)

He breathes out a little awestruck “Oh” of realization.

Daryl’s hard for him. For him! The thought goes straight to his own cock and he can feel himself hardening in his jeans immediately.

With the speed on lightning, he crosses the space between them and proceeds to plant his lips unceremoniously on Daryl’s. The other man drops his crossbow to the floor without a second thought and lets it lie in the grass forgotten. Drake licks into the archer’s mouth right away. The reaction of Daryl’s body to Drake’s hunting skills should be proof enough of his consent, so he doesn’t hesitate to ask for permission this time. It seems like the other man approves because he takes hold of Drake’s biceps with a death grip and kisses back with all he’s got.

Drake drops all caution and lets his hands finally wander over every inch of Daryl’s body that he can reach. He revels in the feeling after having been condemned to watch and pine for days.

The other man responds in kind and within a minute they’re both groping and fondling to their heart’s content. Daryl’s obviously fascinated with Drake’s upper back and shoulders because he slides his hands under Drake’s shirt in order to feel the toned muscles flex under heated skin. Drake on the other hand concentrates on the bowman’s flanks, his lower back and ultimately his ass. Daryl’s breath hitches against his mouth when he gropes the firm globes experimentally.

It’s been a couple of hundred years since Drake’s gotten laid and it’s only natural that he’s rock hard and close to creaming his pants already. Still, he’s pretty sure that he’d be in the same state if it hadn’t been that long because this is Daryl, damn it! The knowledge that he’s got him of all people pressed right up against himself caters to an instinctive need that’s clearly borne from the pact.

Drake huffs out a small moan when Daryl bites his lip more on accident than intention. However, Daryl grows bold as soon as he hears Drake’s reaction and repeats the move on Drake’s neck. He goes crazy with the sensation of the archer’s teeth scraping over the delicate skin there.

 

It’s impossible to keep his hips from rolling forwards at this point and they both moan loudly when their erections connect through the fabric of their pants. Spurred on by Daryl’s moan, Drake grinds his crotch against the other man’s and pulls the archer into the movement by his hips.

Daryl chokes out a sound of bliss and his hands slide from Drake’s upper back down to his ass. The sensation of Daryl’s strong grip on his behind elicits a deep groan from Drake. “Fuck, Daryl!”, he comments in a voice that’s gone deep and rough with lust. The other man pulls back slightly, in order to look at him and Drake’s aware that his eyes are pulsing and swirling in a dark scarlet. Judging from the way Daryl bites his lower lip as he takes in Drake’s red gaze, it’s a huge turn-on for the man.

They have stilled against each other during the exchange and Drake uses the opportunity to his advantage. He lets go of Daryl’s hip with one hand and slides his palm onto the man’s hard-on instead. There he curls his fingers around the archer’s erection as far as the fabric allows and squeezes. Daryl moans brokenly at the touch and his head falls forwards to lean against Drake’s cheek. He proceeds to press the heel of his hand against the hard cock and begins to rub it up and down on the clothed shaft.

Within seconds, Daryl is writhing against his hand and little half suppressed moans escape his throat. He feels promisingly huge under Drake’s fingers and his own neglected cock jumps at the thought. Drake knows exactly what he wants from the other man but he’s not sure how the archer’s going to react, so he's reluctant to voice his needs. There’s a distinctive difference between fooling around and doing the actual deed after all.

“I want you…”, he breathes against Daryl’s ear and emphasizes his point with a particularly hard rub that causes Daryl to groan lustily. The bowman seems to have difficulties forming a coherent thought. His voice carries his lack of focus when he answers: “Yeah, s’ good. What do ya want me to do?”

Drake stalls and kisses him again before he replies, taking time to explore the archer’s mouth some more. “Fuck me?”, he suggests huskily when he can’t prolong the answer any longer. It’s probably not the most eloquent approach on the matter but at least he’s asked nicely. To ease Daryl into the concept, he resumes fondling him enthusiastically.

“Oh”, Daryl comments, a little out of his depth. “I thought… okay…”

Drake nuzzles his nose against Daryl’s stubbled cheek and ads a timid: “Please?”

That seems to persuade the other man and Daryl swallows audibly, apparently trying to regain his composure a little. “Never done that”, he states. “You’ve got ta help me out here.”

The prospect of getting fucked makes it really hard to think straight. Nonetheless, Drake lets go of Daryl slowly in order to look at their surroundings. Luckily, no walker has dared to sneak up on them while they’ve been distracted. For a moment, he scouts out the area with his senses and makes sure it stays that way. Then he spots a rusty red mustang in the driveway and an idea starts to form in is mind.

 

He hooks a thumb in Daryl’s makeshift belt and tugs him forwards with a playful grin. “Come on”, he says and leads the other man over to the driveway, until they reach the vehicle. He comes to a stop in front of the bleached out hood and pulls Daryl close for another lingering kiss. The archer’s taste is just too addictive.

Next, he takes a step back and settles his hands on the buckle of his belt. “Don’t freak”, he warns, while he pops the first button of his fly. You never know how a man who has only recently discovered his gay tendencies might react to the sight of cock. “We can stop any time”, he ads reassuringly, though he’s not entirely confident that he’d be able to, once they’re really going at it.

Daryl nods absentmindedly. His eyes are currently glued to the movement of Drake’s hands in a mesmerized stare. The archer’s breath catches in his throat, when Drake finally pulls his dick out. He sighs from the sudden relief of too tight jeans and the uncomfortable button fly pressing into his sensitive erection.

“Can I…?”, Daryl’s voice sounds rougher that ever and Drake lets go of his cock to make room for the archer’s hand. Daryl reaches out hesitantly, as thought Drake might pull away any second. When his fingers connect with the straining erection, it practically jumps into his grasp. Daryl steps even closer and pumps his fist up and down once in an experimental move.

Drake whimpers pathetically at the sensation, already needy for more. “You’re so… wet”, Daryl states, seemingly fascinated by Drake’s dripping cock as he weights it in his palm. “Yeah, I want this”, he answers in explanation.

He lets Daryl explore some more but soon enough, the tension becomes simply too much. In one fluid move, he pulls the white cotton shirt over his head and throws it aside carelessly. Then he shoves his open pants down to mid tight and searches out Daryl’s eyes to make sure they’re still on the same ground. Daryl’s pupils are so blown by now that his blue eyes seem almost black. His tousled hair is damp with sweat from the day’s heat and their activities. His cock is tenting the front of his brown cargo pants obscenely and Drake almost salivates at the sight.

Reassured that Daryl wants this as much as him, Drake turns around and bends over the hood of the car. He braces himself against the rusty metal with one hand while he spreads his legs and hitches his ass up invitingly. The other hand goes to his mouth and he sucks on the digits for a moment, effectively coating them in wetness. He jerks his cock a few times afterwards, gathering the fluids from the tip for good measure. Then he reaches back and rubs the wet fingertips down his crack and over his hole.

It’s been weeks since he’s last done this and he has to bite his tongue to keep himself from coming. Daryl moans softly at the sight and Drake looks back over his shoulder at the archer’s awestruck expression. Daryl’s reaction is a strong motivator and he races through prepping himself in record time. When he pulls his fingers free, he’s dimly aware that it’s not nearly enough but fortunately, his healing factor is going to take care of the rest.

His hand joins the other one on the warm metal of the hood and he growls at Daryl to get on with it impatiently. The archer is abruptly pulled out of his trance and he hurries to comply. He rips his pants open and winces at the sudden lack of pressure on his cock. Then he steps between Drake’s spread legs a little hesitantly and lets his hand glide over Drake’s naked behind.

He shoves his ass into Daryl’s general direction and moans demandingly. The motion is mostly involuntarily but the other man seems to get the hint Drake’s body is giving him. Daryl takes hold of his own cock and nudges the tip against Drake’s exposed hole. It catches deliciously against the rim and a shiver of anticipation runs down Drake’s spine. Daryl makes a strange small sound in the back of his throat that’s bordering on a whimper.

Finally, he begins to push inside and Drake’s vision whites out with the intensity of the sensation. Daryl is really well equipped so it’s a rather tight fit. It takes several minutes and many desperate moans from both of them before he’s fully seated. The archer obviously needs a moment to get used to the tightness and his breath is ragged already. Drake’s patience is reaching its limits though and he rolls his hips back slightly, trying to goad the other man into action. It works like a charm and Daryl presses in as deep as he can go before pulling back a little.

They work up a slow rhythm like that, gradually gaining momentum. The slide of Daryl’s cock is eased by the wetness he’s leaking into Drake’s channel now. Soon enough, the speed of his thrusts picks up and their force increases continually. It’s impossible to stay passive with Daryl’s massive cock driving into him and he writhes back onto it with every thrust. Drake’s groans turn deep and dark but his moans range from high pitched and needy to low and demanding. They’re answered by Daryl’s own desperate sounds in kind.

Encouraged by Drake’s movement, the archer slides one of his hands up Drake’s back to grab onto his left shoulder while the other one takes hold of Drake’s right hip. The position provides enough stability for Daryl to drive himself into Drake with every ounce of strength he possesses. The angle lets his tip rub deliciously over Drake’s prostate with every trust and it’s just too much to take.

Drake can feel his control slipping and his fingers curl on the rusty hood of the car. The metal doesn’t offer enough resistance and his fingers sink into the material with a screeching crunch. Daryl moans brokenly at the sight and doubles his efforts to drive Drake to the brink of insanity. “Yes, come on”, Daryl grunts, his voice strained from the exertion of fucking Drake into a pulp.

 

It’s these words that have Drake lose it.

With a throaty shout and a blast of air, his wings rip out of his back and his fangs break free. He mewls at the freeing sensation of going all out. The metal under his fingers groans threateningly as his grip tightens. The shockwave of his triggering is nearly enough to burst the car’s windows but since they’re out in the open, the car is spared and the pressure rolls off into the air.

If he’d been coherent enough to think, he’d be afraid to scar Daryl for life. It’s not exactly the ideal first time experience to have your partner sprout gigantic dark wings under you. But given Drake’s current state of being fucked out of his mind, his sole concern is to keep Daryl going.

Fortunately, the other man doesn’t seem inclined to stop anytime soon. If anything, Daryl goes at it all the harder. His moans gain an urgent quality and his hips work so fast that they stutter out of rhythm occasionally.

When Daryl’s hand lets go of Drake’s shoulder and buries itself into the soft feathers on his back instead, Drake can feel his orgasm approaching fast. Daryl tugs at the feathers sharply and that’s all that it takes for Drake to come. He can feel it starting as a tingling sensation right where Daryl’s cock is pounding into his prostate. It takes over his balls from there and they draw tight against the base of his cock. From there on, he can practically feel the come shoot up his shaft and gather in his tip for a heartbeat. His dick swells and stiffens impossibly harder before it shoots its load untouched.

Drake howls as the whole world reduces itself to the sensation of coming harder than ever before. His cock twitches desperately beneath him but he needs both his hands to hold himself up. So he hangs on for dear life and rides the orgasm out, painting the bleached out metal a creamy white.

As soon as Daryl’s cock is squeezed tight in the process of Drake’s orgasm, he joins with a loud drawn out moan himself. He empties his own load into Drake’s tightness and shoots pulse after pulse of warm come up Drake’s channel. Drake can’t decide what feels better, his own amazing orgasm or having Daryl come inside him.

It takes minutes before they’re both finished.

Afterwards, Drake can feel Daryl’s cock jumping weekly inside him in the futile attempt to squeeze out another few drops. The archer slumps over his back and Drake groans at the added weight but he doesn’t move. They stay connected like that for a long while until Drake complains: “You’re heavy.”

Daryl snorts at his comment but he straightens and pulls out carefully. Most of his come gushes out instantly and Drake gives a sound of annoyance at the sensation. Thoughtfully, Daryl reaches for his ass and his fingers begin to rub soothing circles over Drake’s leaking hole. It feels amazingly nice to have the other man care for him like that and Drake purrs a little at the feeling. Daryl chuckles at his reaction and swipes the pad of his thumb over Drake’s entrance one last time before he steps back.

Drake stretches his wings once, before he folds them neatly against his back and lets them dissolve. The other man makes a disappointed sound but he doesn’t say anything while Drake disengages his fingers from the torn metal of the hood. He winces slightly, as he turns around to face Daryl because he aches all over and his shoulders cramp from the strain of holding them both up. Otherwise, he feels incredibly sated and content.

Drake looks just as fucked out as Drake feels. His hair is a mess and he’s still breathing a little harder than normal. His half hard dick hangs out of his open pants that are smeared with come. Drake tries to imprint the alluring image into his mind for safekeeping. He takes hold of Daryl’s open leather vest and tugs slightly, asking him non-verbally to come closer. The archer complies and Drake pulls him into his arms, inhaling the man’s unique scent deeply. He smells of the forest, of cigarettes and of their mixed come. It’s a heady fragrance.

 

“That was nice”, he mumbles smiling against Daryl’s temple. The bowman chuckles again. “Sure was”, he agrees before he disengages from Drake’s hold and takes a step back. He fishes for the rag he keeps tucked into the back of his pants and proceeds to clean himself up. When he’s finished, he tosses it over to Drake who wipes himself down in the same fashion. Afterwards, he lets the rag fall to the floor because it’s soaked by now anyway. He’s pretty sure that Daryl’s not keen on bringing it with them in this state.

They get dressed – or Drake does since Daryl has barely opened his pants for the whole ordeal – and Daryl gathers his dropped crossbow. He inspects it for damage with furrowed brows but it doesn’t seem to have suffered from the fall. The tension between them is whisked away and they fall back into companionable silence. Daryl guts the deer while Drake picks up the supplies they’ve left at the edge of the forest. Drake ends up hefting the deer onto his back and they make their way back to the bikes undisturbed.

The closer they get to the motorcycles though, the more agitated Daryl becomes until Drake asks him upfront: “What’s wrong? Having doubts already?” By his tone, he’s joking but there’s an ounce of fear beneath the easy banter. “Nah, I usually stand by my actions”, Daryl appeases him with a lopsided grin but after a moment of nervous fidgeting, he continues: “It’s just… no need tell the other’s, right?”

Drake stops in his tracks and cocks his head at his companion. “Wouldn’t have taken you for a closet case”, he states carefully. Daryl shakes his head slightly but he keeps walking and Drake is forced to resumes his steps in order to keep up. “It’s not that”, Daryl says vehemently, “I don’t want them to get nosy, is all.” Drake remembers how curious the group had been about his assumed interest in Michonne and he has to admit that Daryl has a point. “We’ll keep today between the two of us”, he concurs and Daryl seems satisfied.

Neither of them talks while they load their quarry onto the motorcycles until Daryl chuckles unexpectedly and Drake perks up with a questioning look. The archer doesn’t glance up from securing the bag of rabbits on his bike but Drake can see him smirking anyway.

“I like your wings”, Daryl explains his amusement.

A grin spreads over Drake’s face as well. “I figured”, he answers.


	11. Falling in Love

They get back at sunset and Drake feels completely at ease during the first part of their way back. He enjoys the warm breeze on his face and the unique satisfaction of a good fuck. But most of all, he revels in the knowledge, that Daryl wants him. Nevertheless, a tiny voice in the back of his head keeps nagging him about the impact of today’s occurrences. 

Surely, the fact that Daryl has just bent him over a car and fucked him like a damn porn star means that he’s a-okay with his newfound homosexuality. Well, maybe not like a porn star because quite frankly, they haven’t lasted long enough to star in anything close. Anyway, Daryl doesn’t seem likely to have an ‘I-have-made-a huge-mistake-meltdown’ anytime soon. Drake trusts his word when the archer says that he stands by his actions and he really doesn’t take Daryl for a closet-case-candidate. The man doesn’t give a fuck what others think of him as long as he’s confident with his own actions. Coming to terms with being gay is definitely a challenge but he’s convinced that Daryl’s going to manage just fine. 

So mental breakdown is ruled out of the equation. Still, Drake’s somewhat insecure about the meaning of today’s events. Or rather, he’s apprehensive about the impact of their sexual activities on their prospective relationship, as Eugene would have put it. Because he wants this to be a relationship and a quick hard fuck isn’t exactly the best indicator for a lasting connection. Dinner might have been the right approach, considering Drake’s ultimate goal here. But this is the goddamn apocalypse. And besides, the sex has been mind-altering. So fuck dinner. 

Or don’t? Drake’s thoughts are starting to run in circles. 

Chances are that Daryl’s not exclusively attracted to him but to men in general. You don’t stick your dick up another guy’s asshole spontaneously, if you’re averse to gay sex on a general basis. Not even if you’ve just recently developed a taste for it. Which means that Daryl might see their encounter as nothing more than a one-time thing. 

The thought make’s his gut clench. What if Daryl doesn’t consider them to be something special? What if he turns his focus on someone else, now that Drake has opened his mind to this new experience? What if he – god forbid – discovers that he’s had feelings for Rick all along? No, Drake would have been able to pick up on that, right? But what if Daryl didn’t enjoy the sex quite as much as Drake? Maybe he should have topped. He should have topped, shouldn’t he?

 

By the time they arrive at Alexandria’s gates, Drake’s relaxed state is blown to pieces. They park right in front of the group’s row house where Carl and the quiet girl Enid sit on the wooden steps of their porch. Both of them jump up as soon as they shut of the engines and Carl informs the others of their arrival with a shout over his shoulder that’s vaguely aimed at the door. As if the noise of the motorcycles wasn’t enough announcement already. 

Drake runs a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture. Now that they’re back, it will be a lot harder to read Daryl and the archer’s most likely going to act as if nothing has happened. That’s what he’d suggested earlier and that’s what Drake has agreed to. In retrospect, he guesses he should have used their alone time to investigate further about Daryl’s feelings. On the other hand, it’s a bit rash to ask for the other’s thoughts on their future right after an unplanned roll in the sheets. 

His inner turmoil must have shown on his face because Carl frowns at him and asks upfront: “Run into any trouble?” Drake can feel Daryl’s eyes on him, as he bares his teeth in a forced smile and answers: “Nothing we couldn’t... handle.” The slight pause before the last word causes Daryl to exhale sharply, but Drake’s aware that his ears are the only ones able to pick up on the sound. 

The boy nods at the deer on Drake’s backseat and grins broadly. “Nice catch by the way”, he congratulates. “Thanks, I hope Carol knows how to make something delicious out of it”, he answers as more people shuffle out of the building in order to greet them and survey their catch. The deer attracts some more attention; Abraham even gives an impressed whistle. 

The foil that still serves as a replacement for the windows he’s shattered flutters softly as they unload their prey. Daryl carries the rabbits into the kitchen and most of the crowd follows him inside, chattering animatedly about the prospect of fresh meat for dinner. Drake tries hard not to stare too wistfully at Daryl’s ass as the other man walks up the stairs. The archer for his part doesn’t spare him a second glance and Drake can feel the hollowness in his chest grow. 

He’s stuck with the duty to bring the deer to the walk in fridge. He has to cross half the town to get to the only building that holds one of these monstrosities and his heart sinks further with each step. It doesn’t help that Carl and Enid follow him around like excited puppies, bugging him the whole way about the hunt. 

When they get back to the house, he’s close to strangling them just to hem the constant flow of questions. In the meantime, Carol has been summoned from wherever she’d been before. In fact, the whole group seems to have gathered and by the looks of it everybody’s in a good mood, even Grumpy-Rick. 

All Drake wants to do is grab Daryl and get out of there, hide someplace quite and snuggle up to the archer’s warm body. The only catch in the plan is, that Daryl’s nowhere to be seen. The bowman has practically vanished into thin air and no one has a clue where he’s gone. Not that anyone besides Drake seems to care, because Daryl’s obviously fine and people just assume that the man needs some downtime after a stressful day. If they only knew. 

Briefly, he considers looking for the other man but something tells him that Daryl wouldn’t like it if Drake followed him. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have snuck out while Drake was busy with the deer. In the end, he helps Carol and Maggie with the rabbits and his worry seems to go mostly unnoticed in the general merrymaking. 

He’s glad when people finally say goodnight and scatter. Daryl hasn’t shown his face yet and Drake settles down in their usual spot on the porch with a weird empty ache in his stomach. At first he’s just slightly annoyed and shifts restlessly on the thick blanket that serves as his bedding, unable to find a comfortable position. 

Slowly, his anger morphs into anxiety about the cause of Daryl’s absence. He doesn’t worry for the archer’s safety, he’d be able to feel it if the man was in danger. But he mulls over his earlier thoughts on Daryl’s possible reaction to the day’s events again and again until his head hurts. Sleep deprives him and he stares holes into the ceiling above his head for the better part of the night. In the early morning hours, a deep longing for the other man’s presence replaces the anxiety. 

 

When Michonne starts to bustle in the kitchen, he sits up with a pained groan. He feels like a rag doll that has been tossed around the room by a child having a temper tantrum. A second later, she emerges from the doorframe with a toast in her hand and shoots him a questioning look. “Morning”, she greets him, “rough night?” 

Drake makes a pitiful noise and lets his upper body sink back down onto his quilt. “Aw, come on big guy, time for breakfast and practice”, she coos sarcastically and he groans again in answer. He’d rather lie here until the world ends or better yet, until Daryl comes back. Though, judging from the empty spot where he usually sleeps, that might not be anytime soon. 

Therefore, he accepts his fate with a sigh and lets himself be pulled up by Michonne’s outstretched hand. He leaves the porch reluctantly but training turns out to be a great distraction in the end. They work harder than ever and Michonne seems grateful for his exceptional investment. When noon rolls around, she’s sweat-drenched and breathing like she’s just run a marathon but there’s that fierce glint in her eyes. She’s enjoying herself and so is Drake. He has almost forgotten about Daryl giving him the cold shoulder but not quite. 

It’s time to turn to their duties though, so they part ways. Michonne saunters off to take the next watch and Drake heads back to the house. On his way, he encounters Glenn and Enid carrying large boxes with supplies but they decline his offer of help politely. He just shrugs and tells them to call him if they need a hand. 

A few other residents cross his path but they’re from Deanna’s group and keep their distance. He makes a detour to search for Rick specifically and ask him if he needs assistance with anything but he has no luck. The leader is nowhere to be found and to his chagrin, neither is Daryl. He’s not actively looking for the archer but if he happens to cross his path, so be it. It’s not like Daryl could blame him for stumbling into him, right?

As he arrives back at the house, he squints up at the clouds. The sky is overcast and the air has a sticky quality to it, clinging to his skin like a warm wet blanket. A faint tang of electricity promises rain, maybe even thunder and lightning. He muses that the weather suits his mood just fine and stomps up the stairs of the porch with heavy steps. 

Inside, he’s greeted with the sight of an empty kitchen and living room. He’s about to turn back around and see if he can make himself useful elsewhere when he catches the muffles noise of a shower running upstairs. He stops dead in his tracks and perks his ears at the sound. Just to make sure, he sniffs the air and gets a whiff of Daryl’s unique scent blending together with hot water and a hint of soap. The smell hits him right in the groin and his cock twitches hard in his pants. 

Fuck. He’s supposed to leave the other man alone. He’s supposed to wait until Daryl comes to him, not ambush him in the shower when he’s clearly going out of his way to avoid him. The image of the naked wet archer pops up before his inner eye, unbidden. For a long moment, he’s torn between rational thought and physical desire but in the end, his emotional yearning wins out over both of them. He has to see him, to look into his perfect blue eyes. 

He rushes up the stairs and skids to a halt in front of the bathroom at the exact same time the door is pushed open. Both of them recoil in surprised shock but Drake recovers himself quickly. The sight before him makes his mouth water. Daryl’s naked save for a white towel wrapped around his midst and foggy steam rolls out of the room behind him. A few stray droplets of water cling to his tanned skin and his hair is still damp from the shower. 

The smell from before is now overwhelming and it calls for him like a siren song. A little dazed, he takes in Daryl’s confused expression. The other man’s tendency to shift into fight mode kicks in instantly. Daryl’s stance widens and he angles his body sideways towards Drake in order to brace himself for a potential attack. Drake marvels at the speed of Daryl’s reaction, at how fast his brain processes the possible threat while his conscious mind lags behind by multiple seconds. The archer’s hands come up halfway to block any blows to his face but they freeze mid move as Daryl finally recognizes him.

“You”, he says intelligently as though coming upon Drake in the house is an unexpected development, as though Drake’s not supposed to be here in this very moment. 

Drake’s features shift into a determined expression. “Yes me”, he declares with his jaw set. “Forgot about me already?” 

 

Daryl swallows and his eyes flit from Drake’s face to the space behind him like those of a wild animal searching out the fastest route of escape. But Drake won’t have none of that. He takes a step forwards and grabs onto the man’s halfway raised wrist. Then he pulls him out of the doorway and slams him full force into the wall next to the bathroom. Daryl yelps at the abrupt manhandling but he doesn’t fight it as Drake crowds his space. Instead, Daryl’s pupils blow wide and his breath catches in his throat. 

From this close, Drake can take up every fragmental variety of the archer’s amazing smell. The other man’s arousal is a spicy tinge to the calm fragrance of soap and water on top of the lingering traces of sweat, forest and cigarette smoke. 

Even better than taking in the scent, is seeing Daryl almost naked for the first time. Drake wants to lick every inch of his hard muscled body and he can’t even decide where to start, with so many alluring choices on display. With an effort, he decides to go for Daryl’s lips first, since he already knows how damn good they taste. 

Daryl doesn’t protest, as Drake somehow still expects him to. Instead, the other man moans lowly into the kiss and returns it with fervor. The archer’s hands slide onto Drake’s hips as though they belong there and he tries to pull Drake flush against himself. Drake however, doesn’t budge because he’s adamant to not let this mount in some senseless rutting. He wants to keep a level head this time, he wants to make this good for Daryl. 

For a moment, he considers sucking the other man off. The temptation to wrap his lips around that huge cock is enormous but he’s not that confident about being able to fit it into his mouth. Since his demonic nature hampers his success rate in finding willing bed partners quite a bit, he prefers to put each encounter to best use. And in his opinion, a fuck trumps fellatio any time. Therefore, he’s not very experienced with giving blowjobs. Which is rather inconvenient because he really wants to impress Daryl, after all this could be his last chance to woo the man. Consequently, he scratches that option off his list. 

Drake can hear the bustle of people close by and he can’t rule out that someone might stop by the house at any moment. That makes actual penetration seem a bad choice, too. Which is a shame, because in Drake’s mind, there’s nothing better than the feeling of taking dick. 

The thought brings him back to the present and he does the next logical thing. He leans back a little, grabs onto the towel and tugs it off of Daryl’s hips. The thing falls to the parquet with a soft thud, revealing Daryl’s impressive package. The archer is half hard already and his cock bobs slightly in the empty air between them. Drake’s mouth waters at the sight but he reigns himself in and takes hold of the firm flesh with one hand while he braces himself against the wall with the other, right next to Daryl’s head. 

The man arches into the touch and moans breathily, his eyes fluttering closed. Drake puts pressure onto the twitching dick in his hand and pumps it up and down slowly. Each time he reaches the crown, his thumb swipes over the tip, spreading the precum all over the head. It takes no more than a couple of strokes to bring Daryl to full mast and he can feel the archer practically vibrating under his touch.

His own cock pushes uncomfortably against the inside of his jeans but he ignores it studiously, because this is supposed to be all about Daryl. Though, little moans escape his throat unnoted and blend together with Daryl’s hoarse ones. 

The sensation of controlling Daryl’s heavy dick with his fist is incredible. Every single squeeze elicits a moan, every small tug makes his breath go faster. Drake uses every trick in the book to make the other man feel good, varying between long drags and sharp pulls, rubbing the slit just so on the upstroke. By the archer’s reaction, he must be pretty skilled at hand jobs but then again, the concept is very familiar to everybody who has a dick of their own. 

Nevertheless, he’s got to up the ante if he wants to leave a lasting impression because a hand job is still just a hand job after all. That’s when an idea strikes him and he decides to give it a try, even though it’s a spur of the moment thing. A bit of power play is usually bound to spice things up, isn’t it?

 

He slows his hand to a stop and keeps it wrapped tightly around Daryl’s leaking erection without moving it at all. 

“Like that?”, he asks, his tone conversationally and a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Daryl’s eyes fly open and he squirms involuntarily in Drake’s unmoving grasp. Briefly, Drake feels a twinge of bad conscience for teasing the other man but the lack of friction has the desired effect. The moans gain an annoyed quality, a hint of dissatisfaction and Daryl bites his lower lip while his gaze locks pleadingly with Drake’s. The archer doesn’t respond verbally though, refusing to beg with words.

Drake’s hand stays frozen in place but he leans over the small space between them and captures the bowman’s lips again. Despite the fact that Drake initiates the contact, Daryl takes the lead. He’s instantly dominating the kiss, licking into Drake’s mouth with a demanding growl. Drake lets him take control, moaning deeply at the display of need from the other man. 

When he pulls back, they’re both breathing hard. Copious amounts of wetness are leaking from the tip of Daryl’s cock now, running down the shaft and over Drake’s fingers in tiny rivulets. For a moment, they stare at each other in a mental battle of will. Drake knows that his eyes are swirling with scarlet again and Daryl seems to be intrigued by their red glow. The archer’s cock twitches under his fingers and a keening whine forms in the back of the man’s throat. 

However, Drake doesn’t yield and his hand stays stubbornly in place. Finally, Daryl breaks down and his voice is exceptionally raspy when he grumbles: “Come on, man!” The words are accompanied by more squirming and Drake smirks again, which earns him a dark scowl. 

Confident that he’s gained the upper hand, he leans forwards the slightest bit and lets the red in his eyes pulse intentionally. “Work for it”, he growls seductively, using his deepest darkest voice. 

 

For a heartbeat, Drake’s not sure if the other man is going to comply and he squeezes his fingers once to goad him into action. Daryl’s eyes never leave his as he moans brokenly at the fleeting pressure on his straining erection. Afterwards, his teeth clench shut and he hisses out a stuttering curse.

Then his hips thrust forwards in a smooth roll, effectively pushing his hard slick cock through the tight hold. Drake’s hand doesn’t move an inch and Daryl moans loudly at the delicious wet friction. Next, he slides his dick back out of Drake’s fist until only the tip is resting against it. 

He doesn’t repeat the motion right away, though. Instead his right hand comes up to grab a hold on Drake’s shoulder. The archer’s fingers dig into Drake’s muscles as if Daryl’s anchoring himself to Drake. 

Daryl’s other hand clamps around his wrist in a vice grip, as though he’s afraid that Drake might suddenly let go of his cock. Then his dick nudges at Drake’s fingers again and the bowman moans lowly as they give way. He begins to slide his erection in and out of Drake’s unmoving hold repeatedly, quickly building up a steady rhythm. Within a few minutes, Daryl’s cock is pumping fast and desperate moans wreck his body. 

Several drops of precum fall to the floor each time the tip of Daryl’s dick emerges on the other end of Drake’s fist, before he pulls back out with a squelching sound. They create a small puddle on the wooden floor and Drake’s mind goes hazy with the overpowering smell of the other man’s arousal. 

Just the thought of Daryl fucking himself into his fist is almost enough to send Drake over the edge untouched. “God, Daryl!”, he manages to croak out in a husky voice. The other man groans in response and tightens his grip on Drake’s shoulder. His hips work at maximum speed now and random words tumble out of his mouth. 

“Fuck, yes! Fuck, fuck, fuck”, he moans loudly, his southern drawl even more prominent in his aroused state. He repeats the curse again and again until Drake can’t tell anymore if it’s him or Daryl talking. 

It doesn’t take long for the archer to get close. Drake can feel Daryl’s orgasm approaching fast as the man’s cock swells and jumps in his hand with each punishing thrust.

“Yes, come on, come for me!”, he goads, his voice thick with lust. “Come for me, Daryl!”

With a shuddering groan, Daryl’s head falls forwards onto Drake’s shoulder. His whole body stiffens and his dick twitches hard as he reacts to Drake’s words. With an obscenely wet noise, warm sticky semen shoots into Drake’s fist and gushes all over Drake’s jean clad leg and onto the floor. Daryl’s hips slow down stutteringly until his thrusts turn small and sharp as he rides out his orgasm. 

Drake moans along with him and buries his nose into the archer’s damp hair, while he concentrates on not creaming his pants. He’s dimly aware that it has started to rain outside and the faint murmur of water provides a welcome diversion from the aching hardness between his legs.

 

It takes a while for Daryl to regain his senses and when he does, he straightens back up with a satisfied groan. His dick slides out of Drake’s come covered fist and he slumps back against the wall with a heavy sigh. 

 

Drake reaches for his own pants hesitantly, insecure if Daryl’s willing to witness his own completion after having finished already. His uncertainty seems unfounded though, because Daryl hums approvingly as soon as he picks up on Drake’s intention. Reassured, Drake pops the button on his jeans one handed, lowers the zipper and carefully pulls out his swollen cock. 

Daryl licks his lips as his eyes settle on the leaking dick and Drake moans at the suggestive gesture. The thought of Daryl sucking him off has him whimpering as he wraps his come covered fingers around himself. The feeling of Daryl’s warm body fluids slicking up his own erection makes his cock jump hard. He’s painfully aware that it will take approximately about three strokes before he shoots his load embarrassingly fast. 

And that’s exactly what happens. 

Before Daryl can even do so much as reach out for Drake, he’s already pumping his dick one, two, three times and comes hard. His eyes close tight as the sensation rolls over him in a crushing wave. With a needy moan, he shoots thick creamy ribbons all over Daryl’s softening dick that’s still hanging in the air between them. Drake feels almost guilty at the lewdness of the act but Daryl breathes out a lustful moan as the warm fluid hits his sticky skin. 

 

For several minutes, neither of them says a word as their ragged breathing slowly returns to normal. Drake searches out Daryl’s eyes with a questioning look, following the urge to make sure that the other man is all right with what has happened between them. It’s a warranted concern, considering the archer’s reaction to the last time they had been intimate.

The distinctively cagey expression he encounters lets his heart sink again. He resists the urge to take down his arm that’s still bracing his weight against the wall. Pulling back would only assist in putting up a wall between them. “Did I do something wrong?”, he inquires softly, worry tingeing his voice. 

Daryl opens his mouth to respond but he holds his breath for a moment before he actually speaks. “Is this because of that deal you made with ma brother?”, he asks so quietly that even Drake has difficulty understanding him. 

Drake takes a long moment to process the question and to really listen to his inner voice. He can feel Daryl’s unease through the bond they share but his features stay blank as he waits patiently for Drake’s answer. He takes in Daryl’s beautiful dark blue eyes and his unique scent that’s currently blending together with the smell of soap, sex and anxiety. 

“No”, he replies and the instant the word leaves his mouth, he knows it’s true. “It’s not because of the pact.”

Daryl’s expression remains unreadable but Drake catches something fleeting in his eyes that could have been relief. Some of the tension he hasn’t even noticed leaves his own body in a rush. He smiles tentatively at the other man.

 

Before things have chance to progress further, there’s a silent creek on the stairs and both of their heads whip around in alarm. Drake’s not surprised that he has missed another person creeping up on them. He’s been preoccupied after all and it’s not like someone will die if they catch an eyeful on accident. 

He notes that Daryl’s reaction is distinctively slower than before and Drake accredits his lag to their recent activities. He has to admit that the thought fills him with an ounce of satisfactory pride for a split second.

The emotion is quickly replaced by a weird jolt in his stomach as he recognizes Rick standing motionless on the stairs. The man looks like the metaphorical deer caught in the headlights. His eyes are wide and scared while his heart pumps away at an unhealthy rapid speed. But most importantly, his pants are definitely tented by a bulging erection. 

 

Time seems to freeze until Daryl breaks the deathlike stillness by shouting Rick’s name. The archer’s tone is a confusing mixture between astonishment and panic but his voice kicks Rick into action nonetheless. The man squawks out a hoarse “Sorry!” before he whirls around and flees the scene. 

“Rick!”, Daryl calls again and pushes forwards as if he intends to give chase. Drake has the presence of mind to put his flat palm on Daryl’s chest and push the man right back against the wall, into his original position. His fingers are still covered in their combined releases and half of it smears onto Daryl’s naked chest in the process. The mess is completely ignored, though. 

Instead, Daryl’s focus snaps away from the stairs and settles on him as he snarls angrily: “Let go!”

“Relax”, Drake growls right back. “At least put some clothes on before you rush into anything.” That seems to sober Daryl up and he blinks at Drake for a moment, his cheeks heating up a little. 

Drake’s annoyance spikes as he takes in Daryl’s haste to run after Rick. They’d just had a moment, damn it! “What would you even say to him? Just give him some time and he’ll be fine”, he suggests grumpily. Judging from Rick’s raging hard-on, the man had enjoyed the show quite a bit. 

Daryl shoots him an incredulous look and ducks under his left arm that’s still bracing his weight against the wall. The archer vanishes into the bathroom and Drake can hear the tab being turned on. He sighs. 

Half a minute later, Daryl reemerges buck ass naked but clean. Drake follows his example and heads into the deserted bathroom. He can hear the other man rummaging around the upstairs bedroom while he gives himself a quick rinse and puts his clothes back into order. One look in the mirror reveals disturbingly obvious jealousy edged onto his bearded features and he grunts annoyed at his reflection. 

Meanwhile, Daryl has finished getting dressed and Drake watches silently, as the other man passes the open bathroom door without so much as a glance at him. “I’m gonna head out for a run!”, Daryl shouts way too loudly over his shoulder, as he thumps down the stairs. 

Drake swallows hard. 

Nobody had told him that falling in love would hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be very busy the next two weeks, so it might take me a while to write the next chapter. 
> 
> Nonetheless, the future chapters are all planned out by now and I'm definitely not gonna abandon the story. Please be patient with me. Thank you very much for staying tuned!!! :)


	12. Growing together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm unbelievably tired right now, so I apologize in advance for this chapter.

For a while, Drake stands by the sink unmoving and lost in thought.

A deep ache settles in his stomach again while he ponders what he’s done wrong now. He just can’t pinpoint where he has overstepped that frickin’ invisible line this time. Somehow, he can relate very well to a kicked puppy and he kind of knows that his reaction is bordering on pathetic but it hurts so goddamn much. The longing sets in with full force once more.

And that pain inside him tells him exactly what Daryl means to him; that the heavy emptiness in his chest has in fact nothing to do with any pact he might have made with Merle. He’s in love, fuck it all to hell and back! He’s in love with the most stubborn man he’s ever met. With a guy who obviously enjoys having sex with him but who bolts every time after.

This is not what he has signed up for.

With a heartfelt sigh, he pushes himself away from the sink and makes his way downstairs. He sighs a lot lately but being around humans tends to do that to him. They’re quite frustrating after all, especially the attractive male ones. He should go and get a beer, or a whiskey or one of Carol’s cookies.

Or maybe he should go find Rick and fuck him three ways from Sunday, just to clear the air between them. The man should get laid anyway, if his stunt at the stairs had been any indicator. Not getting any for too long isn’t exactly healthy, Drake can tell from personal experience. But the urge he feels is more closely related to the itch for a fight and searching out Rick in that condition is not the brightest idea. Therefore the sex solution is off the table.

As he comes to a stop in front of the door that Daryl has left open in his wake, his mood darkens even further. Why have they even bothered to fix that damn thing in the first place? No one around here bothers to close it behind them anyway, as he has noticed before. Furthermore, the rain is coming down in torrents and the heavy clouds have turned the sky into a lead covered dim grey.

He lingers in the living room for a moment, indecisive about how to proceed. He’s torn between the need to get out of the house and the preferable option of curling up someplace dry to pity himself for a while. Under the given circumstances, it takes longer than it should for him to register the smell but when he does, his nose wrinkles of its own accord.

The putrid stink of death filters through the scent of fresh rain that is filling the summery air.

He groans aloud. Goddamn it all to motherfuckin' hell!

 

Within seconds, he flits onto the street and through the deserted town center. People seem to have fled the downpour and he encounters no one until he dashes around a corner too sharply and almost knocks Morgan onto his ass. The other man stumbles back but catches himself swiftly, which is precisely what Drake likes about the guy. He has the ability to deal with whatever the world dishes out to him in a completely unruffled manner.

The man is drenched but he doesn’t seem to mind the water much. It’s still rather warm, despite the rain and there’s no real threat to catch a cold or something by being out here. “Sorry, didn’t see you there”, Drake hurries to say, shaking a wet streak of hair out of his eyes.

“No harm done”, comes the collected reply. Morgan’s brow furrows as he takes in Drake’s mood that must show quite clearly on his features. “Something the matter?”, the man inquires, his tone still calm but alert for trouble already.

Drake shakes his head and gestures vaguely to the east. “There’s some walkers on the loose out there. I can take care of ‘em but you need to tell the other’s to stay inside the camp for today”, he explains.

Morgan’s eyes widen at the mention of a bunch of corpses on their front steps. “How far?”, he wants to know instantly. Drake huffs a little annoyed at the delay. “I don’t know, a few miles maybe”, he answers. The sooner he gets rid of the corpses, the sooner he can go back to licking his wounds. Besides, the rain makes it difficult to tell the exact distance and he’s not keen on letting the horde crowd their camp. He can do without the hassle of panicking people all around him.

“Look, I need to get this over with. Will you take care of things around here?”, he asks beseechingly. “I don’t know where Rick is right now. And to be honest, the last time I’ve seen him we didn’t exactly part on good terms. So I’m counting on you!”

Morgan seems to mull that over for a second before he nods. Drake can feel his need to inquire about the Rick comment but the man is way too rational to ignore obvious priorities on cause of simple curiosity. “Sure”, he agrees, “I’ll tell everyone to stay put.”

“Thanks man, I owe you”, Drake replies relieved, already turning away.

“Drake?”, Morgan’s voice halts him in his tracks and he turns halfway back to the man. “Hm?”, he asks confused.

Morgan smiles softly at him. “Be safe”, he tells him.

A fierce grin spreads on Drakes lips and he lets the red swirl into his eyes. “Always”, he drawls before he grinds his boots into the dirt and dashes off with superhuman speed.

 

Dealing with the herd turns out to be an unbelievable pain in the ass.

First of all, he decides to leave Baby where she is because getting her muddy isn’t high on his list of tolerable things. Secondly, he leaves his sword behind as well because he’s in the mood to rip some limbs off bare handed anyway. So far, a little killing spree – if you can call the act of finishing undead things that – sounds almost like a good plan.

Unfortunately, the rain only serves to intensify the rotten odor of the corpses. The smell is overpoweringly disgusting and Drake has to fight the urge to retch as he closes in on the herd.

Furthermore, the rain makes them slippery and slimy and somewhat puffy. Ripping arms and legs off of bloated dead bodies is not as much fun as it might seem at first thought. In fact, it’s absolutely gross.

As if that in itself isn’t enough, the downpour has turned the ground into gigantic puddles of muddy brown sludge. Of course, the stupid walkers don’t keep to the asphalt but rather loiter in the most dirt packed areas of the forest.

It takes ages for him to search out each single one of them and crush their brains.

When he finally throws the last one head first against a large boulder, his mood hasn’t brightened one bit. Under normal circumstances, a little violent workout like that helps to calm his nerves and relax him. It’s his equivalent of a bar fight. But today, each kill only serves to agitate him further.

 

He makes his way back to Alexandria completely covered in mud and gore and drenched from head to toe. The weather doesn’t show any mercy either and the sound of thunder begins to rumble in the distance, adding insult to injury.

Briefly, he considers calling for someone to open the gate but it seems like too much work and he simply jumps the fence once more when he reaches the eastside wall. As soon as his soles touch the ground, he strains his senses to make sure Daryl is okay. Usually, he’d just have looked for him like any other person would have done. But he’s too strung out to bother with etiquette and he can’t deal with another low blow right now either. It takes quite a lot of concentration to filter out the man’s heartbeat but afterwards he’s reassured that the archer is safe and sound somewhere close by.

Drake shakes himself like a dog and proceeds towards the house. By now, dusk is settling, though due to the weather there’s not much difference in the light. However, the windows are illuminated by a welcoming warm glow and Drake can already hear muffled voices from inside. A hot shower seems like heaven and he’s eager to get out of the impending storm.

He thumps up the porch steps extra loudly to announce his presence. With these people you risk getting shot if you catch them by surprise during dinnertime. “I’m back”, he hollers through the open doorway just to be safe. Of course, the door is still open, what has he expected?

“Drake! Welcome back!”, Carol greets him cheerily from the kitchen isle.

A chorus of “Hey Drake’s” and “Welcome back’s” rings around the packed room. People mill around like a pack of wolves after a successful hunt, crowding the kitchen isle to get their share of food.

With one look at his boots, Carol ads warningly: “Don’t even think of stepping inside before cleaning up.” He’s very tempted to give her the finger, because he has just spent half his day being emotionally kicked in the balls and the other half getting rid of the herd. Though, he refrains from the crude gesture for the sake of Carl’s manners. And she has a point anyway, he’s not keen of mopping up his mess again.

“How’d it go with the walkers?”, Tara inquires around her fork while she shovels the first bite of lasagna into her mouth.

Drake makes a disgruntled noise. “Don’t ask”, he comments dismissively from the door. His nose is so clogged with the stench of corpses that he can’t even focus on the delicious smell of Carol’s lasagna. “Smells good”, he praises Carol’s cooking nonetheless because he can tell by the blissful expression on Tara’s face that the taste is fantastic.

“It’s actually a recipe from Denise”, the girl informs him proudly. Drake grunts noncommittal because with that new piece of information, he has to rethink his assessment. After all, Tara’s prejudiced; she’d eat a rock if Denise claimed to have cooked it. On the other hand, the rest of the group seems pretty eager to get a bite as well, so either they’re really hungry or Denise’s lasagna is as good as it looks.

He lets his gaze travel over the gathered group, searching for Daryl even though he can tell by the lack of his southern drawl that the man isn’t present. He’s almost relived that he doesn’t have to face the archer but the disappointment is suddenly far stronger. Whatever appetite he might have had vanishes completely as he takes in the bustle with a vacant stare.

Though, he’s abruptly pulled from his depressing thoughts as his eyes encounter Rick’s over Abraham’s ginger head. Drake does a double take and shock floods his senses as their gazes lock into each other. Rick’s expression is a perfect imitation of his earlier deer in the headlights look. The lightning flashing outside emphasizes the impression. Rick gulps visibly and Drake watches as the man’s cheeks turn a pretty shade of red. He’d never seen Rick blush before, not like that. Fascinating.

Morgan’ spoon actually hovers halfway between his plate and his mouth as he looks curiously from one to the other. To break the awkward moment between the three of them, Drake blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “Where’s Daryl?”, he asks in the general direction of Carol because if someone knows where the archer’s hiding, it’s got to be her.

Rick blushes even harder now and he reminds Drake strongly of a tomato. A sexy blue eyed tomato. Weird.

“Pookie is over at Aaron’s”, Carol informs him while she prepares a second plate for Sasha who’s next in line. Drake wreaks his brain for a moment, but he comes up empty handed. “Who’s Aaron?”, he asks dumbfounded, his attention turning partially away from Rick and towards the topic at hand.

“You don’t know him?”, Maggie pipes up from the couch where she’s snuggled up to Glenn’s side. “Should I?”, he answers with a counter question, wariness tingeing his voice.

“He’s a really nice guy”, Maggie explains happily. “He lives up the street with his boyfriend Eric.”

Thunder rolls outside and Drake’s breathing stops.

Glenn, always eager to support his wife, ads helpfully: “Eric’s supposed to make amazing spaghetti.”

For a whole minute, Drake’s mind reels but no one seems to notice. Glenn digs into his lasagna with gusto, oblivious to the metaphorical and indifferent to the literal storm brewing right at their front door. Carol talks animatedly to Sasha about something concerning knives. Could be how to gut a rabbit, could be how to gut a walker, Drake can’t tell. He’s preoccupied with processing the news.

Rick seems too caught up in his own predicament to catch on with the impending doom. The man’s avoiding Drake’s eyes now, concentrating on his plate instead. Morgan is the only one who does react at all. His spoon is still hovering and his gaze is locked solely onto Drake.

As though a kitchen clock had been counting the seconds till sixty, Drake’s mind snaps suddenly. “What?”, he bellows at no one in particular.

His exclamation must have been pretty loud because conversations drain and all heads turn questioningly towards him. “What ‘what’?”, Rosita asks confused.

Drake opens his mouth to respond but he doesn’t know how to explain the situation and besides, these people are not the cause of his rising anger. No, the source of his rage is currently at a house up the street with a gay couple, eating spaghetti.

“Never mind”, he presses out before he turns on his heel.

 

He doesn’t even feel the water on his skin this time, even though the rain has turned considerably colder after nightfall. His insides are burning with suppressed fury. However, he doesn’t run up to that Aaron guy’s house. Instead, he balls his hands into fists at his side and walks the whole way.

His rage shifts his mind into fight mode and attunes his senses much more sharply to every munitions sound and smell around him. Now Daryl’s heartbeat rings clear as day over the murmur of the rain. He can even hear him laughing. Laughing! His mind blanks out.

With an immense effort he manages to knock on the white front door instead of ripping it off its hinges. So what if the lacquered wood splinters a little under the force of his knuckles.

After a moment, chairs are pushed back from the table and steps become audible. The door opens a crack and a cute guy with brown curls stares at him open mouthed. Drake’s fingers itch to strangle the man but he just growls: “Where’s Daryl?”

His eyes are blazing by now but he doesn’t care, does in fact welcome the intimidating display of power. Before Aaron can react with anything but confused fearful shock, Daryl’s form is thrusting past the stunned man.

“Go inside”, he grunts at Aaron who hurries to comply and closes the dented door behind the archer.

 

Daryl’s eyes are blazing with at least as much rage as Drake’s, never mind their color.

“What’s yer goddamn problem?”, he yells heatedly at Drake. He throws his arms wide and steps into Drake’s personal space chest first in a universal gesture of provocation.

Drake growls at him wordlessly but the sound doesn’t have any other effect besides enraging Daryl further. The man’s eyes glint dangerously behind his bangs that slowly soak in the heavy rain. His face is mere inches from Drake’s now and for a second, he doesn’t know if he wants to punch him or kiss him but his anger wins out eventually. Time to speak plainly.

“What’s my goddamn problem?”, Drake shouts with incredulous rage. “My fucking problem is that I’ve been out there all afternoon, killing walkers while you’ve been playing house with that ken doll back there.”

He readies himself to let that sink in but to his chagrin, Daryl does seem neither impressed nor inclined to think about Drake’s words. The archer’s eyes narrow and he hisses out a low sound through his teeth. Lightning flashes over their heads followed by the rumbling of faraway thunder. The storm is passing, confusingly contraire to the course of their argument.

“So, I’m supposed to say thank you every time ya kill a damn walker?”, the archer snarls. “I am fuckin’ grateful, we all are! But I ain’t your lil’ bitch!”

Drake blinks at him. “I’m not... That’s not what I’m saying”, he clarifies. “I’m not expecting anything back. Why would you even think that?” He’d never wanted anything in exchange for ensuring the group’s safety.

The other man shoots him a dark look. “Well, I ain’t your property just because we fuck”, he states a little more subdued.

Gradually, hurt overtakes the rage inside Drake. “You know what, fuck you!”, he snarls back. “Fuck you and your goddamn complex. If anyone is the bitch in this, it’s me! So you can stop running away each time we fuck despite saying that you stand by your actions.” He means it, because even though Daryl’s not a typical closet case, he’s obviously afraid of being taken for a pussy.

It’s Daryl’s time to blink at him. “What do you even want from me? It’s not my fault that you made some frickin’ pact with ma brother”, he barks at Drake.

“I told you, this has nothing to do with Merle!”, Drake shouts back exasperatedly. “I love you!”

 

As soon as the words have left his mouth, his teeth clamp together with an audible click. But it’s too late to take them back and Drake can feel the color drain from his features. Fuck.

Daryl’s eyes grow wide and his own anger dissolves instantly. It’s replaced by something Drake can’t quite put his finger on. Surprise?

The other man doesn’t say anything but his mouth opens and closes a few times. As always in situations he’s not comfortable with, Daryl’s moving, fidgeting, shifting his weight, unable to keep still. “What... What does that mean?”, he asks warily when he finds his voice again. “You expect me to be yer wife now or something?”, he ads with a healthy dose of aggression.

Drake exhales slowly, his patience stretching thin. “Are you even listening to me?”, he asks, frustration apparent in his tone. “I’m a man, you’re a man, no one is the goddamn wife. But if you really can’t wrap your head around that, fine, I’ll be the bitch.”

Drake can feel Daryl processing but the other man doesn’t respond and for a moment, they stare at each other wordlessly. Then a big part of the tension leaves Drake’s body in a sudden rush and his shoulders sag. He still can’t read the archer but his words don’t seem to get through to the other man. He feels beat. “I’m sorry, I should’ve left you alone in the first place”, he says quietly.

After a while of silent contemplation, Daryl seems to reach some kind of conclusion. “Are you jealous?”, he blurts out unexpectedly.

The words cut like a knife. Suddenly Drake can’t meet the other man’s eyes any longer and he averts his gaze. “Yeah”, he admits in a low voice. As if that hadn’t been obvious from the start. It feels strangely humiliating to say it out loud, though.

Before he knows what hits him, he’s yanked forwards by Daryl’s strong grip on the front of his shirt. Instinctively, he screws his eyes shut and braces himself for the impact of Daryl’s fist. Somehow he expects the other man to land a punch even though their argument has been much more heated in the beginning.

What he doesn’t expect are Daryl’s lips against his.

A surprised sound forms in the back of his throat but when his lips part to let it out, Daryl’s tongue slides in demandingly. Drake has never been this confused but the sensation of Daryl kissing him is too good to question his luck. The archer’s right hand fists into Drake’s soaked hair and tugs sharply, effectively taking control despite Drake’s slightly taller and bulkier frame.

The other hand sneaks around Drake’s body, pulling him flush against the other man. Drake in turn gives as good as he gets and lets his hands roam Daryl’s wet skin. It’s a hot kiss, frantic and needy but underneath there’s a new kind of understanding between them. Drake slows down deliberately and pulls back reluctantly, keeping his arms wrapped around the archer.

Daryl mouths at his neck and Drake’s very tempted to let this lead to sex again. But this has to be different, they have to be on the same terms here. “I love you”, he mumbles against Daryl’s soft wet hair, just to taste the truth of the three words on his tongue again. The archer hums softly.

“I’m sorry if you don’t want to hear that but it’s true. I love you. I want to be with you”, he elaborates.

Daryl doesn’t reply but his arms grow tighter around Drake and he can feel the man smile against his neck. “Okay”, he whispers, his voice hoarse and it’s the sweetest thing Drake has ever heard.

“I don’t know how this works”, Daryl admits after a while, “but I want it, too.”

Drake chuckles happily against the archer’s wet skin. “We’ll figure it out”, he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on the next chapter but I have a lot of stuff to do so it might be a few more days - sorry for the wait!!!


	13. Addressing a Problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long wait, shame on me!!! Here comes the next chapter, finally!

When the early morning’s first rays of sun touch the world around them, steam rises off the earth and fogs the air close to the ground. It creates a mythical illusion of a foggy autumn day, but it’s still mid-summer and the cloudless sky promises another heat period on the horizon.

Nonetheless, it’s been weeks since the fateful night of thunder and lightening and inevitably, fall will come. Drake can smell it in the dew that covers the lawn every night; he can perceive it in the way the dry leaves rustle in the breeze. They’ll have to claim a room when the nights get colder, because the porch will become seriously unpleasant to sleep on. 

Daryl shifts beside him and he snuggles closer to the other man’s back, burying his nose in the archer’s neck and inhaling his scent. He could stay like this forever but unfortunately, Daryl has other plans. He hums contently as he wakes up and presses back against Drake’s broad bare chest. 

The worn flannel of Daryl’s shirt ads to the warmth their bodies have created under the thick blanket that’s covering them. The soft material feels good against his naked skin, silkily smooth and intimately familiar. Drake’s arm has been slung loosely over the other man’s side during the night and he tightens his hold on Daryl while he rasps out a sleepy “Mornin’”. 

He’s acutely aware that he has approximately three more minutes of cuddling to look forwards to before Daryl will be unable to lie still any longer. The man’s used to getting up with the sun and kick-starting into action each morning has become second nature to him. 

Intending to make good use of the limited time, he slides his hands under Daryl’s shirt slowly and traces the scars on his lower back in a gentle caress. The other man arches into the touch and purrs out a happy little noise. Drake revels in the sensation of having Daryl opening up like this. It has been incredibly difficult to get him to this point but eventually, he had convinced the archer that he wasn’t going to ditch him any time soon. 

 

As it turns out, Daryl’s trust issues are the main reason for his initial tendency to bail on him after sex. In retrospect, he should have figured that out right at the beginning but it’s challenging to think straight when you’re caught in the middle of an emotional hurricane. 

After his rather unplanned admission in the rain, Daryl’s attitude had changed drastically. Sometimes he’s still wary of Drake, as though he expects him to vanish into thin air at any moment but he lets his guard down more often now. It had taken some time for him to get the whole ‘no one is the bitch thing’, too. But one night, he had suddenly pressed Drake back into the covers of their makeshift bed and growled at him: “I want it. Do it.”

Genuinely confused, Drake had asked: “Do what?” Though he had been eager to comply even without knowing what exactly Daryl had wanted. “Fuck me, dumbass”, Daryl had clarified as if drawing that conclusion had been absolutely logical. 

Of course, Drake had made sure to use every trick in the book in order to make the experience worth Daryl’s while. He’d begun with rimming him until his jaw had ached and the other man had begged for him to get on with it. Obviously, Daryl had enjoyed having his cherry popped because he’d made a habit out of shoving Drake up against the next flat surface on a regular basis and demanding to be fucked. Drake is happy to deliver but most times, he’s still on the receiving end of things, which suits him just fine.

With Daryl’s newfound nag to get laid whenever the mood strikes him, it’s become nearly impossible to keep their relationship a secret. Almost all of the group’s members have caught them going at it at least once. Carol has to bang on the bathroom door every few days and shout for them to hurry up since other people intend to use the shower, too. 

Drake might have been embarrassed if he wasn’t so happy. The sex is incredible and he enjoys every second of it but after all, it’s the little things that make his heart sing. Like Daryl always choosing to sit next to him during dinner. Or Daryl casually nuzzling his temple while he reaches for a gun on the shelf behind Drake. Or Daryl giving him a gentle peck on the lips when they pass each other on the street, carrying out their daily tasks. Their schedules have started to overlap more and more, by the way. 

Once, Daryl had even caught him singing ‘Born to be my Baby’ under his breath while they’d been working on the wall. Only the archer’s amused little snort had made him aware that he had actually been humming along to a goddamn Bon Jovi song. He’d stopped instantly, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. Daryl had mocked him playfully for it, telling him that his voice was quite good and that he should sing more often. Drake had feigned to be affronted at Daryl’s jibe and they had engaged in a pathetic excuse of roughhousing that had inevitably led to frantic fucking. The song however, had told Drake more than anything how hard he had fallen for the archer. 

 

People around them seem surprised by the sudden change in their relationship but not averse to it, except for the public sex part. That tends to annoy the living hell out of their fellow Alexandrians and Drake can’t blame them. He had stumbled upon Glenn and Maggie before and it had been kind of embarrassing to look them in the eye during dinner afterwards. But even if the group hadn’t approved of their status right from the beginning, he’d still have acted the same way. Being with Daryl just feels right.

 

There are only two persons who can’t seem to wrap their heads around them as lovers. One of them is the elusive priest who hasn’t set foot in their house since Drake has shown up. Seeing how the cowardly man evades Drake at all cost, he hasn’t gotten more than a glimpse of Gabriel since his arrival but he has heard the gossip. Obviously, the man thinks of him as a demonic creature that has undermined their little sanctuary and is now trying to corrupt innocent Daryl to the dark side. It’s probably not so much the gay part of their relationship as it is the devilish aspect of Drake’s nature that scares the shit out of Gabriel. Drake couldn’t care less.

The other person however, is their fearless leader who poses a much bigger problem than the priest. Rick tries his best to feign ignorance about their relationship and act as if nothing has changed but his physical reaction gives him away. Since the leader has caught them in flagrante in front of the bathroom, he blushes each time they meet and practically squirms with flustered embarrassment each time they are in the same room. 

In Drake’s opinion, the awkwardness is totally superfluous because being aroused by catching them in the act is nothing to be ashamed of. Daryl is de facto the hottest man Drake has ever encountered and if he’d caught Daryl and Rick in the same position, he would definitely have sported a hard-on just like Rick. Though he’d have been very jealous, too. And that’s the strangest thing about Rick’s behavior because the man doesn’t seem to envy Drake for getting into Daryl’s pants and heart. Instead, he seems mortally embarrassed and ultimately turned on. 

He can smell Rick’s arousal spiking each time Daryl and Drake touch each other, even if it’s just a casual slide of a hand or a companionable bump of their hips. It shatters the man’s concentration, makes him stop dead in the middle of his sentence at the other side of the room and forget what he’d been about to say. Fortunately, no one else seems to pick up on the leader’s weird behavior besides Morgan and the man doesn’t comment. 

He likes Morgan a lot; the man is open and friendly, never judging too quickly and always emanating an aura of calm collectedness. He’s got that Yoda-ish personality thing nailed down and Drake respects him for it even if he doesn’t get the whole ‘I don’t kill attitude’. Anyway, his raised eyebrows and questioning frowns are still enough to rile Drake up with guilt. Even though it’s ultimately Rick who makes things complicated. 

Most annoying about Rick’s behavior is how it affects Daryl. The archer clearly doesn’t know how to react to Rick’s weird attitude and it influences their friendship considerably. Due to the awkwardness, they tend to avoid each other more and more which prevents Daryl from fulfilling his usual position at Rick’s side. The leader lets it happen, obviously glad to be spared more squirming. His indifference towards his second in command only serves to hurt Daryl, which in turn riles Drake up. Despite his initial competitiveness with Rick, he doesn’t want Daryl to lose the bond he shares with the leader. 

At least Daryl doesn’t run after Rick anymore and he seems genuinely happy with Drake. There’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lip more often than not nowadays and his eyes get that beautiful sparkle when he looks at his lover. So the strain on his relationship with Rick has nothing to do with Daryl being attracted towards the other man and everything to do with Rick being attracted to Daryl. However, there’s nothing Drake can do about that besides hope that Rick will follow the other Alexandrian’s lead and get over it already.

Take Aaron and Eric for example. As it turns out, the ken doll and his boyfriend are actually decent guys, though it had taken some time for them to get halfway comfortable around Drake. The next time they had cooked spaghetti, Drake had been invited along with Daryl and he’d apologized sheepishly for denting the man’s door. The dinner with the other men had been a weird experience because it had made it distinctively obvious that they’ve become an official couple. 

It had been nice though and Daryl had reveled in the easy atmosphere away from the bustle of the group. A warm glow had spread in Drake’s chest as Daryl had taken his hand under the table inconspicuously and held it during the whole time they’d eaten desert. When Daryl had fucked him long and deep and sweet that night, the archer had whispered a soft ‘I love you’ in Drake’s ear. He’d cummed so hard at the words that he’d almost blacked out. 

 

Right now, Daryl turns around under the covers in order to face him and he makes room for the other man by raising his arm until the archer has settled comfortably into his new position. “Mornin’”, Daryl echoes his word from before and a sleepy smile spreads over his stubble covered features. Drake’s fingers itch to touch the other man’s cheek, so he gives in to the impulse and raises his hand to Daryl’s face. The archer’s smile spreads into a lazy grin and he can feel Daryl pawing at him under the covers, searching out the shape of his body. 

Daryl shifts a little closer and slides his hand between Drake’s legs while he himself rubs his thumb over the coarse hair of the other man’s beginning of a beard. Drake’s about to delve in for a kiss when deliberately stomping steps become audible from inside the house and Michonne’s voice calls from the living room: “Careful, boys! I’m coming out, so cover up!”

Drake’s groan of annoyance is accompanied by Daryl’s own noise of distress. They both rise up on their elbows as the woman emerges from the doorframe. “Fuck you, Michonne!”, Daryl calls but she only flips him off as she stalks over the porch and down the steps, katana strapped to her back. At the bottom of the stairs she comes to a stop and checks her gear. “I’m going out for a hunt”, she explains without looking at them. “I’m gonna keep close, though. Drake, keep an ear out for me?” 

“Sure thing”, he reassures her while Daryl grumbles beside him. 

“We’ve just been out yesterday”, the archer complains. “What do ya need now?” 

She shoots an accusing look at them over her shoulder. “You brought back three rabbits! Three! How’s that supposed to feed everybody? Next time fuck less and hunt more.”

Drake watches intrigued as a pretty shade of pink tinges Daryl’s cheeks. They had really spent most of the day rolling around in the grass. Nonetheless, the archer plays it cool stands his ground. “Sorry, no can do”, he drawls provocatively. “There ain’t much game this close to the camp, anyway”, he ads with a frown.

Michonne only huffs at them and proceeds down the street in the direction of the gates. Drake watches the swing of her hips as she walks away. He thinks once again that for a woman, she’s pretty attractive. Why can’t Rick pine for her instead of Daryl?

The other man tugging him into a gentle kiss pulls him from his reverie. “I’m gonna help Tara and Denise with inventory today”, the archer explains as he pulls back reluctantly from the lingering contact of their lips. There’s more noise coming from inside the house already and they won’t have another minute to themselves for at least half the day, so Drake steals another brief kiss. The peck on his lips makes Daryl smile in that dazed way, somewhere between delight and arousal. 

“Come on man, don’t make this harder than it is”, Daryl says reproachfully but he strokes the back of his hand over Drake’s stomach at the same time, contradicting his own words. Drake chuckles which earns him a halfhearted slap to the ribs before Daryl untangles himself from the covers and gets up. Drake has to groan lowly as Daryl adjusts his very obvious morning wood and his own hard cock jumps interestedly. They should really look for another place to sleep, preferably far far away from everybody else. 

“Meet me at noon behind the church?”, the archer asks in a rushed, low voice. He’s a little breathless and glances over to the doorway nervously, checking for eventual uninvited eavesdroppers. 

Drake’s grin turns mischievous and he leers openly at the archer.

Daryl rolls his eyes at his non-verbal reaction as he grabs his crossbow that he has placed against the wall. Though Drake can feel the excitement rolling off the other man in waves already. 

In that very moment, Carl pokes his head around the doorframe. “Hey”, he greets them, “Carol asks who wants scrambled eggs for breakfast?”

Daryl shakes his head while he slings the crossbow over his shoulder. “Count me out”, he says and ruffles the boy’s hair as he walks past him in lieu of a verbal thanks for the inquiry. Carl glowers at Drake’s retreating back while he smoothes his tousled hair back down. 

“Later”, the other man calls vaguely in Drake’s direction as he makes his way down the steps. 

Carl turns his focus to Drake. “How about you?”, he asks still a little sourly. 

Drake grins at the teenager’s antics and confirms by raising his hand halfway in a lazy gesture. “I’m in”, he drawls. 

 

Breakfast turns out to be a trap. 

Carol serves him the promised scrambled eggs and they taste delicious, as expected. But afterwards, she digs her metaphorical claws into him and forces him to help her with the household. 

After his initial arrival, he’d been eager to help out any way he could because he’d wanted to stay and therefore he’d needed to be liked by these people. Seeing how he benefits from living in Alexandria, reciprocating by helping out is only the polite thing to do. Besides, lending a hand doesn’t kill him. 

Still, household chores are not part of his essential abilities. Basically, he’s a natural born killer and he’s very comfortable with his set of skills. The camp and its inhabitants need to be defended after all and he’s the perfect man for the job. He has proven it countless times by now. 

For example, less than two weeks ago Daryl had been out to look for some meds Denise had requested and he’d run into trouble with a bunch of rag-tag strangers. The group of douchebags had actually dared to point their loaded weapons at the archer. Daryl had just raised one questioning brow and asked them in a pitiful voice if they really wanted to do this. They didn’t know what they were dealing with after all. The assholes had been a little confused by Daryl’s careless attitude but after a moment they had sneered at his stupidity and cocked their pistols. The archer had only sighed dramatically and in the next second, Drake had been upon them. Tearing the idiots apart who had dared to threaten his boyfriend was unsurprisingly very satisfying. 

So maybe he could have gone about it with a little less fervor. And maybe he had lingered a bit just to swipe in at the perfect moment. And maybe that had earned him the desired effect of a very pleased Daryl. So what? He is still the man for the damn job!

However, Carol doesn’t care in the least. She shoves a pair of rubber gloves at his chest and makes him scrub the kitchen until it’s squeaky-clean. Afterwards, she orders him to do the laundry, to fix the leaking showerhead and to swipe the porch.

Later, he has to help her with cleaning a dozen rifles under her scrutinizing gaze. She corrects him every other minute and he feels his frustration building up slowly. Nobody needs those useless weapons anyway; he can outrun any fucking bullet quite easily. He tells her as much when the rifle he’s working on falls apart between his fingers once again. She tsks at his flashing eyes, much like Sarah might have done, but she allows him to take a break. 

Slightly fuming, he stalks off and wanders around the streets for a while to cool his head. Ironically, the late midmorning sun is burning hot on the asphalt but the warmth makes him sleepy, his pent up anger fading away. He knows that Carol can see right trough him and that she won’t hold a grudge about his behavior but he opts for staying away from the house for a while nonetheless. So instead of heading back, he makes his way to the church and jumps up on a sunny roof that faces the building from across the street. It’s nearly time for his rendezvous with Daryl anyway and he can use a nap after the morning’s activities. 

He stretches out on the heated tiles like a lazy cat and yawns. He has almost dozed off when the breeze carries voices to his ear and he scrunches up his face as thought the sound is an annoying fly buzzing around his head. The voices are persistent though, tugging at his subconsciousness. He cracks one eye open and focuses on them more thoroughly.

Huh. If it ain’t their fearless leader and the stupid blonde bitch from next door. Drake’s curiosity is piqued and he sits up in his place on the roof to get a look at the two humans who are conversing two houses down across the street.

Rick is standing in the open garage of Jess – or was it Jessica? Jessie, that’s it. 

Drake’s vantage point provides him with a perfect view of the two humans and he doesn’t even need his superior senses to tell what’s going on between them. Rick is talking beseechingly in a low voice, crowding the woman’s space. He’s going on about Jessie’s late husband who he has finished off before Drake had set foot in the camp. Or so he’s been told. His tone is pleading and he keeps pointing out reasons why he had no choice in said killing of the aforementioned husband. She in turn seems torn, not quite giving in to Rick’s guilty pleas but not stepping back from him either. She’s uncomfortable with Rick’s close proximity though, that much is very clear from her posture. 

Drake can’t blame her, the mad glint is back in Rick’s eyes and the man is kind of scary in that condition. For a moment, Drake watches intently how Rick practically rubs himself on Jessie’s leg like a dog in heat. All the while he keeps justifying his actions and his words seem to work their magic because Jessie leans in a little more towards Rick. Her eyes flit around the garage nervously and she still seems freaked out by Rick’s captain-crazypants-mode. Obviously indecisive if she should fuck or flee, the woman stays immobile and frozen in her spot. 

Drake decides to take action. 

He slides off the roof in one graceful move and crosses the street in a heartbeat. He comes to a stop right behind Rick and grabs the man by the neck from behind. Rick produces an undignified little yelp and Jessie jumps, apparently startled by his sudden appearance. He smiles broadly at her, showing more of his teeth than necessary.

“Sorry if he has bother you, Jessie”, he drawls while Rick freezes in his grasp like a kitten held by the scruff. “I’ll take care of him now. Thanks for your help.”

Rick starts to protest as Drake drags him backwards out of the garage while Jessie watches speechless with wide eyes. “Wha- What are ya doin?”, he asks incredulously, arms flailing to keep his balance.

“I’m doing you a favor, you can thank me later”, Drake growls at him in annoyance. “It’s about damn time you stopped acting like a freakin’ bitch in heat!” 

Rick sputters at his harsh words and digs his heels in to throw off Drake’s hold on him. “I’m not-“, but Drake simply tackles Rick’s midst and hefts the man onto his broad shoulders in a fireman’s carry. “Shut up”, he barks at Rick as he makes his way up the street and towards the church. The leader wriggles in his grasp and shouts an exasperated: “What the hell?!” but Drake doesn’t budge. 

He waves over his shoulder at Jessie in a two fingered salute without turning around and he can hear the blonde woman scurrying away into the sanctuary of her house. Like a fucking squirrel. He carries Rick towards the church’s entrance but instead of entering the building, he bypasses it and walks around the corner out of sight from the street. 

The shadowy spot of lawn between the church and the next building provides perfect cover, which is exactly why him and Daryl have opted for this very spot countless times before. It’s secluded, it’s cool and the grass is pretty soft. 

Of course, Daryl is already waiting for him, when he reaches their usual venue. It’s exactly noon. The archer’s eyes widen as he takes in Rick’s form thrown over Drake’s shoulders and shoots him a questioning look, prompting him to explain the situation pronto. 

Drake heaves Rick off his back and sets him back onto his own feet, much to Rick’s relief. The leader turns around and faces a very uneasy Daryl who looks from one to the other pointedly. “And now we work this out”, Drake orders in a stern voice. 

Both pairs of eyes fix on him. “Rick, your behavior is fuckin’ ridiculous! I get that you’ve known Daryl way longer than I have and I understand that you guys have been trough a lot of tough shit together. I accept that. But Daryl is with me now so get a grip and swallow the goddamn news already. It’s not that hard, everybody else has done it. So what’s your fucking problem?”

Rick looks positively stricken with guilt and his gaze flickers to Daryl, seeking help and getting none. The archer crosses his arms in front of his chest and shifts his stance, keeping quiet and waiting for Rick’s answer, backing Drake up. 

The leader licks his lips nervously and shifts from one foot to the other, obviously thinking about the right thing to say. “I don’t have a problem with you”, he begins haltingly. “I’m glad for you. You deserve to be happy!”

“What is it then?”, Daryl asks demandingly. “Ya just don’t like fags in general?”

Rick’s eyes widen comically. “No!”, he hurries to affirm. “No, I’m not… I don’t…” He obviously doesn’t know how to continue. 

Drake sneers. “Well, I said it already, didn’t I? Just admit it, man! You’ve got the hots for him.” He tilts his head, indicating his lover with the gesture. 

Rick swallows and his gaze travels from one to the other repeatedly. Then he closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath. “It’s not him”, he says in a voice so small, it’s almost a whisper. Drake doesn’t know what to do with that new piece of information and he looks to Daryl in confusion. The archer on the other hand seems to have expected Rick’s answer, much to Drake’s surprise.

Daryl crosses the few steps between him and Rick, then jabs one finger into the man’s chest, hard. “I fuckin’ knew it!”, he growls and Rick flinches at his aggressive tone. “Daryl…”, he begins weakly but the archer cuts him short. “You damn prick! You leave him alone, ya hear me? He’s mine!”

Drake gapes at them. Daryl’s snarling at Rick like a wolf defending it’s territory and Rick all but tugs his metaphorical tail between his legs. 

“Wait, what?”, he clinks himself back into the situation at hand. “You like… me?”, he asks incredulously, pointing his thumb at his own chest. Daryl looks at him and rolls his eyes while Rick takes a step back from his second in command. “Of course, who else?”, Daryl states as if that had been obvious all along. 

“Uhm”, Rick pipes up again, catching their attention once more. “That’s not quite…”, he tries and fails to form a sentence. 

After a moment though, that well-known determination shows in his eyes and he squares his shoulders. “Okay look, I’ve got no right and I know that. I’m glad you found each other and I think you’re a good match”, he clarifies in a sincere tone. “That day, when I saw you together… I…” he pauses again and now a blush is spreading rapidly on his face. He doesn’t meet their eyes as he continues. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you, it just happened. But I thought you were pretty hot together and I kinda… I couldn’t get it out of ma head.”

“Huh”, Drake concludes intelligently and his face lights up slowly. “But that’s perfect! We can just have a threesome. You know, fuck it out of our systems and be done with it.” 

The two men look at him as though he’s gone insane. Rick seems torn between horror and guilt but there’s a healthy dose of fascination and lust as well. Daryl on the other hand looks a little miffed and slightly annoyed but mostly amused. 

“Drake, you can’t solve everything with goddamn sex”, Daryl says slowly as though explaining something very obvious to a stupid person. Drake refrains from pouting. “I don’t solve everything with sex”, he defends himself. “But it’s the logical thing to do!”

Daryl crosses his muscled arms in front of his chest. “I thought we were kinda exclusive”, he challenges Drake. 

“It would be an exception of course”, Rick comments helpfully, his eagerness openly perceptible in his tone. That earns him a dark look from the archer. “Shut up, Rick. This ain’t about you!”, he grunts at the leader, his focus never leaving Drake. 

“I’m not keen on sharing but I don’t know what else to do. You just wanna pretend like nothing happened?”, Drake retorts. Daryl seems to mull that over for a moment. “A’ right, fine”, he finally consents. “So how do we do this?” Rick is largely ignored during the whole decision but he doesn’t seem to mind, following the conversation intently. Drake can actually see the man’s pupils dilate at Daryl’s words. 

Drake feels a weight drop from his shoulders that he didn’t know existed. Honestly, he doesn’t see a better solution for the problem at hand and maybe he tries to solve a lot of things with sex, so what? As long as it works…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy about your support :) thank you so much!!! Hopefully, I'll have a little more time now and I'll be able to post the next chapter soon. 
> 
> Update: I'm on it but I'll need more time - sorryyyyy!!!!!


	14. Fanart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm a really bad person... I am actually working on the next chapter and the storyline for the rest of the fic is already planned out, too. But I'm kinda stuck in a weird form of writers block with this story... I don't know why. 
> 
> So instead of posting the next chapter, I'm trying to placate you guys with some more fanart of mine... A bribe so to say... Did I mention that I'm a bad person? Anyway, it's Daryl this time.

                                                                 


	15. Being Caught

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's nothing to say in my defense... it's been ages... SHAME ON ME!!! Anyway, here's the promised chapter. There'll be one more after this.

Drake is convinced that sex is based on giving in to your impulses, showing your affection through your actions rather than your words, while talking is just the icing on the cake.

Consequently, he doesn’t waste more time with idle conversation and proceeds with grabbing Rick’s shirt and yanking him into an open mouthed kiss. It takes Rick about three seconds to process what’s going on and a surprised gasp escapes him but then he opens up under Drake’s assault. 

He can hear Daryl’s heartbeat picking up and the man shifts his weight uneasily from one foot to the other in the typical fashion of his. Of course Daryl must be nervous, he’s about to have a threesome with his leader aka best friend who considers him family and his boyfriend after all. Drake feels slightly guilty for putting his lover in that awkward position but he honestly doesn’t know how to fix things between the three of them otherwise. He’s been butting heads with Rick from the very beginning and now he intends to stay with Daryl for the rest of his life, so he has to find a way to cope with the leader. He’s willing to try at least. 

Rick tastes distinctively different from Daryl, a little minty and not quite as warm as the archer, not quite as perfect. Kissing Rick is still a heady experience though and he gives it all he’s got, making sure to leave Rick breathless and starry-eyed when he pulls back. “Ever done it with another guy?”, he inquires, raising one questioning brow. Rick gulps and shakes his head no, blushing a little.

The red hue tinting the man’s cheeks pronounces the piercing blue of his eyes nicely and Drake has to grin affectionately. “Relax then, just watch and learn”, he instructs and steps back from Rick. 

Daryl’s pupils are already blown wide, his breathing a little ragged, when Drake turns to him. Reassured that his lover wants this as much as him, Drake steps up to him and gives him a gentle smile before leaning in and capturing his lips in a soft kiss that contrasts beautifully with the frantic exploration of Rick’s mouth. 

For a while, Daryl just melts under his gentle ministrations. Then the energy that’s usually buzzing through his veins seems to find its way back into his body and his hands grab hold of Drake’s ass with a squeeze. Drake doesn’t even try to suppress the breathy little moan that escapes him and the hand that’s been holding Daryl’s jaw in a gentle grasp wanders quickly to the man’s neck. He pulls back slightly and looks down at his lover before things get too heated to think even halfway straight. 

He can feel Daryl swallow thickly. “What do you want?”, he asks him as he searches his lover’s eyes for the answer. 

There’s a drawn out moment of indecisiveness before Daryl speaks. “I don’t want you to fuck him.” 

Rick makes a quiet little noise of disappointment but Drake is pretty sure that Daryl doesn’t hear it. “Okay”, he affirms, because it feels like this would cross some invisible line to him as well. 

Daryl’s gaze flickers to Rick, whose attention is glued to the two of them. “How about… you fuck me first, then I’ll do him?”, he proposes.

The truth is, no matter what combination Daryl would have come up with, Drake would have been thrilled anyway. “Sounds good”, Rick throws in helpfully from the sidelines. The eagerness in his tone is more than obvious and Drake grins at Daryl. “I’m game.”

Drake pulls Daryl back into his arms and reclaims his mouth. He doesn’t waste any more time and goes straight for the man’s vest. Within seconds, the archer’s upper body is bared and Drake sinks his teeth playfully into his lover’s neck and inhales. “You smell so fuckin’ good”, he mumbles happily against his skin and grins as Daryl scoffs at his words. 

“Come on”, Daryl growls impatiently while his hands are already reaching for Drake’s belt, though the angle is off and the buckle won’t come loose. 

“Good things come to those who wait, you know”, Drake teases him and runs his fingers over the archer’s scarred skin. 

Daryl just grabs his cock through his pants in response, which is – of course, with what’s been going on – already hard. Drake moans appreciatively as Daryl squeezes him but makes no move to unfasten his pants. 

An annoyed little noise comes from the archer. “Gimme that”, he orders in a rather whiny voice, while his free hand fumbles with Drake’s buckle, who chuckles. “That’s my dick, not a toy, asshole”, he rebukes him jokingly. 

Daryl actually pouts at that. “Well it’s claimed”, he informs him. Rick makes a strangled, aroused sound.

Drake’s brows lift. “’Claimed’?”

“Claimed.”, Daryl affirms. “Means it’s mine.”

Drake doesn’t get a chance to question that concept of thought any further because finally, the belt yields to Daryl’s assault and he yanks it out of its loops triumphantly, before he throws it aside and attacks the button and fly. As soon as Drake’s pants are open, Daryl’s fist closes around his straining erection and begins to pump expertly. 

Drake’s knees grow weak. 

Rick gives a pathetic little whimper from the sidelines and Drake is dimly aware that their leader is fumbling with the button and fly of his own jeans, his eyes glued to the spectacle in front of him. “Don’t come!”, Daryl orders in Rick’s direction, obviously taking control of the situation now. 

Drake tries desperately to regain some semblance of self-control and pushes Daryl’s hands off with a considerable amount of effort. He spins him around in a swift motion and pulls him flush against his front, grinding himself helplessly against the man’s perfect ass while he attacks Daryl’s neck once more. 

Making quick work of Daryl’s pants, it’s mere seconds before he has them halfway down the man’s tights and they both sink to their knees. From there on, it’s all a hazy blaze for Drake. Daryl gives him barely enough time to prepare him, before he urges him on impatiently. Rick’s knees give out soon after and all three of them find themselves sweat-dripping and in a lust fogged frenzy down in the cool grass. 

Honestly, Drake has no idea how Rick manages not to blow his load while he watches the two of them fuck. He swears, he tries to slow down, to draw the pleasure out but it’s impossible. Everything is way too hot and slick and perfect to last long. Daryl squirming underneath him, pushing back, taking everything from him – it’s almost too much. His senses overload and it feels just too amazing to care. He could die happily right now and not regret a damn thing.

Of course, it’s still over way too soon and desperately clinging to Daryl, he comes hard. The orgasm rushes over him in a blinding wave of blissful relive. Just the knowledge that Rick is watching spikes the pleasure tenfold and the aftershocks ripple through him in hot, tiny sparks. For a long breathless moment, he can’t bring himself to let go and he stays wrapped around his lover, their chests heaving, Daryl still squirmy and hard. Rick swallowing audibly finally brings him back to reality and he manages to detangle himself from Daryl reluctantly. He really doesn’t want to, but it would be quite unfair to keen their patient companion waiting any longer.

The archer takes enough time to turn around halfway in order to claim Drake’s mouth in a long, sloppy kiss, before he slides off completely. It feels like a reassurance, as if Daryl is saying “I’m still yours”. Then he turns back and practically lunges at Rick. Caught off guard, Rick tumbles onto his back with an undignified yelp but he yields to the onslaught instantly. Drake flops down in the grass, just makes himself comfortable and prepares for the exquisite show. 

 

Briefly, he’s a little concerned for Rick. This is the man’s first time with a guy after all and Daryl’s patience is practically at zero. Anyway, Rick seems far beyond complaint and let’s himself happily be manhandled. Even though Daryl’s prep time seems more suited for someone with a healing factor like Drake, Rick takes it like a champ and seems to enjoy every second. 

Again, it doesn’t last very long. With Daryl already on the edge, Drake is pretty impressed with the archer’s endurance so far. He can tell that Daryl wants Rick to have an amazing time but he’s also a little rougher than usual, as if to show Rick who is in charge around here. While Rick keeps glancing at Drake, eyes clouded and his focus a little off, Daryl doesn’t look at him at all. Still, Drake can tell that his lover is highly aware of his presence and its effect on Rick. 

When Daryl comes soon after, he bites down hard on Rick’s shoulder, groaning deeply, and rides out every wave of pleasure until he has nothing more to give. Rick moans loud enough that Drake gets a little worried someone might hear them. Though the noises Rick makes are definitely worth the risk. 

Finished and dripping with sweat, Daryl wraps his arms around Rick’s chest and pulls him back against his own, until he’s practically sitting on the archer’s lap. Rick whimpers helplessly, still rock hard and desperate. A rather untypical fear of abandonment surfaces in Rick’s blue eyes as they search out Drake’s over the small space between them. 

Drake can feel the twinge of lust in his guts at Rick’s helpless surrender. It’s not quite enough to get him hard again so soon, but it’s obviously enough to let the red glow in his eyes flame up once more, because Rick licks his lips hungrily at the sight and Daryl grins satisfied and lopsidedly from behind him. Asking non-verbal permission from Daryl first, Drake crosses the short distance between them and places a gentle kiss on Rick’s trembling lips, trying to calm him down slightly. 

“Please”, the man whispers brokenly and something in Drake’s belly flutters a little at his tone. He slides his lips down over Rick’s abs in a torturously slow, wet path before they finally wrap around his erection, promising relief. Something between a sigh and a sob wrings itself out of Rick’s throat and it takes about two seconds before he comes, too. 

 

Drake is about to pull back, when a high pitched gasp can be heard behind them. All three of them turn their heads towards the source of the noise with mild alarm, too fucked out to produce any other sort of reaction. There, at the edge of the church, right at the entrance to their little hiding spot, stands no other than their frightful priest. 

Gabriel stares at them with a shock-stricken deer-in-the-headlights-look, one hand clasped comically over his open mouth. For a few stretched out seconds no one dares to move a muscle. Then the priest’s hands start to flutter about in a gesture meant to ward off evil while he shrinks back in horror, gaze flickering over the compromising scenario in front of him. He looks positively like a flustered chicken. 

“Uhm…”, Drake tries, Rick’s limp cock sliding from his mouth, though nothing appropriate comes to mind. 

He really has no clue what to say under the given circumstances. Gladly, Gabriel eyes bulge even more and he proceeds with fleeing the scene by retreating backwards around the corner. A heartbeat later, Drake can hear him barricading the church doors behind himself, all the while reciting something in Latin about exorcisms and demons and the seven pits of hell. 

Shocked silence settles over the three of them and panic begins to unfold in Drake’s stomach. 

Then Rick comments with a heartfelt “Fuck”. 

That causes Daryl to break into a contagious fit of hysterical laughter. 

When the giggles subside, Drake leans his forehead on Rick’s shoulder and sighs. “We should really do that again sometime”, he says with a grin.


End file.
